


Manhattan Mistress

by hellomrschorusgirl



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, F/M, Marvel Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 05:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16906743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellomrschorusgirl/pseuds/hellomrschorusgirl
Summary: It’s election season and things are about to get heated. Y/N Rogers, previously Y/N Stark, is the daughter of the late mob boss of Brooklyn. She took over when her father died and runs the streets with a firm hand, although no one knows it’s her pulling the strings. Money must roll, especially when it comes from her ex-husband Tony Stark. Tony secretly endorses Steve Rogers’ campaign, currently running for alderman and seemingly oblivious to what happens behind the scenes of his so-called happy marriage. But then Bucky, Y/N’s oldest friend, shows up to win her back and decides to stir things up a little.





	1. The Background Story

“I’m so happy you could make it. She’s been looking forward to spending some time with her daddy the entire week, she never stopped talking about it.”

Tony laughs lightly, his brown eyes lightening up as he scoops Casey up in his arms. He twirls her around before hoisting her over his shoulder, her beautiful curls dangling wildly in the air as her shrill giggles fill the atmosphere with so much glee you can’t help but break into a bright smile, shaking your head at their silly antics. She takes after Tony in so many ways, from her dark hair and piercing brown eyes to her analytical take on the world and even her sassy character. She’s still so young and yet it’s already as clear as day that Casey Stark is in fact her father’s daughter. At least she has inherited some of her mother’s quirks.

“Daddy has missed his favourite girls so much! You have no idea,” Tony exclaims heartily and you suppress a haughty laugh. There used to be a time when he couldn’t stand the sight of you and vice versa. You love each other too much for your own good, not to mention you’re considerably younger than him, the source of many teasing remarks from certain enemies and even a couple friends although none of them have lived to see another day. But watching Tony pepper her tiny face with feather-light kisses, it’s so refreshing and it does things to your heart you wouldn’t believe. It flutters even higher as he makes these little and utterly adorable noises causing another fit of giggles to erupt from his daughter’s lips.

“My beautiful baby girl,” he purrs in a ridiculous voice, his fingers excitedly attacking Casey and engaging her in a tickle fight. “My beautiful baby girl and her insanely gorgeous mother.” He then looks up at you expectantly, giving you that look he knows will win you over, a look of melted gold that makes you weak in the knees. The only thing left to do now is flash his dazzling trophy smile and you’re a goner for sure. Fortunately he doesn’t but you can sense there’s an urgent question brimming his lips.

“What do you want, Tony?,” you sigh dramatically and he shoots you a knowing smile. Planting a chaste kiss on his temple, you sit down at the breakfast table, nibbling on a strawberry dipped in chocolate sauce before indulging yourself with a glass of fresh orange juice.

“Mind if I keep her for the weekend?,” he inquires, ruffling Casey’s hair whilst taking a seat opposite of you, pulling your daughter in his lap and bouncing her on his knee, her miniature fingers playing with his indigo tie. “I also thought that maybe we could host her birthday party at my place. She can have as many friends over as she likes and you don’t have to worry about the expenses, I’ll take care of everything for you. Unless you and Steve have already made plans, I don’t mean to impose.”

You shake your head, chuckling softly. “No, we didn’t make any plans yet, Tony. Steve’s busy running a campaign, as you are well aware of,” you say matter-of-factly, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of your ex-husband joking around with your daughter just like old times. A lot has changed since you ended your toxic relationship and things have definitely changed for the better. No more throwing mud or making a snarky comment about something trivial, you can finally breathe again.

“Tony, you were a lousy husband but believe me when I say, and I’m only going to say this once, you are an amazing father. I’ll come pick her up on Monday, you two have fun.”

You gently bump Casey’s nose with your finger and allow Tony to take your hand in his, softly grazing his lips over your knuckles, gingerly placing a kiss as his neatly groomed scruff tickles your alabaster skin. He momentarily closes his eyes. “I love you, Y/N,” he mutters against your skin before letting go of your hand and tenderly pecking Casey’s cheek who is still completely engulfed by his presence.

“I know you do, Tony,” you reply quietly, your eyes staring at the ground below. “Believe me, I know.”

The drive towards the Rogers’ mansion isn’t long and the music on the radio doesn’t seem to please you, blaming the January cold for your sudden change in mood. You can’t seem to shake the thoughts of Tony and Casey and about how happy they were together. It makes you wonder why on earth you ever got a divorce before memories of lonely days and even lonelier nights start flooding your eyes with stinging tears and you remember quite clearly why you were so eager to sign those divorce papers. Not to mention all the bruises when conversation got a little heated.

You were eighteen and fresh out of high school when your boyfriend Bucky Barnes skipped town after your late father threatened to kill him if he ever laid a finger on you again. He didn’t like the idea of his Manhattan princess fooling around with an errant boy from Brooklyn, working a couple side jobs for your dad so he could provide for a living since both his parents died when he was younger. If your old man had only known it would drive you straight into the arms of Tony Stark, his right hand and most valued business partner, he would’ve thought twice before meddling with your love life.

You were way too young and unprepared to get hitched let alone be a mother. But if it hadn’t been for your beautiful daughter Casey, the apple of your eye, to keep you company on your darkest of days, you would have felt even more isolated. She’s also the only reason why you decided to continue the legacy of the mob life and why you stayed with Tony for as long as you have.

There’s not a single thing happening in this city that you don’t know about and there’s not a single thing you’re not involved in, although you stay clear from trafficking drugs and girls, it’s despicable and right up Loki Laufeyson’s lane. Too much blood had been shed on his behalf until your father forced his hand, killed his mother and made him sign a peace treaty. Oh, if he only knew it’s the Manhattan mistress calling the shots in Brooklyn and that he’s been your bitch all this time, he’d probably make a beeline for the executioner.

Truth is, no one except for your inner circle knows the truth. Ever since your father died, rumours about his successor have been keeping his associates too busy for them to notice his prissy offspring has taken matters back into her own hands. The new mob king could really be anyone at this point but that doesn’t mean business can’t run as smoothly as it did before his decease. You’d like to keep everyone in the dark for as long as possible, not out of fear for losing their trust or respect but out of pure spite. These men are just a bunch of stuck-up, old-fashioned bastards with a stick up their ass and nothing but red on their ledger. They always used to look down on you and pity your father, a son would have been a much more convenient turn of events and yet here you are, screwing everyone over as we speak.

Even your Stevie doesn’t know what his dear wife is up to when he’s busy charming the audience with another inspiring speech and his winning attitude. You’d rather not involve your beloved husband in all the nitty gritty stuff that overshadows most of your life, he’s just too much of a soft-boiled egg to be able to handle the shit going down on the street. Besides, it would most definitely cost him his career and you your marriage because nothing good ever comes from the mob life, you learned that the hard way.

Grimacing as you pull up the driveway and get out of your car, you are greeted by Steve’s four-legged, furry friend Dodger and his new companion Trixie, the puppy Steve got Casey for Christmas. Once inside, you head straight for the kitchen and open up a bottle of your favourite wine.

“A little early for alcohol, isn’t it?,” Nat calls out from behind the grand piano in her typical sultry voice. She decided to grace you with an impromptu visit and you smirk at her, offering her a glass as well which she gladly accepts.

“I just dropped Casey off at Tony’s place,” you explain, taking a quick sip from the red liquid, revelling in the sensation of it caressing your throat with a pleasurable burn, the rich aftertaste lingering in your mouth and invading your senses with its delicious familiarity. You still have no clue how you survived 9 freaking months of pregnancy without even a single drop of your favourite liquid.

“Fair enough. She still looks at him like he hung the moon?”

You nod and Nat simply shrugs in reply. No further words are exchanged as you both sit at the kitchen island, staring at the screens of your cell phone light up with new messages and finishing your drinks in silence, occasionally giving each other a sideway glance.

“You texting dear Stevie?,” Nat asks mischievously as she wiggles her eyebrows at you suggestively. “The sex still mind-blowing or has our favourite politician been hit by a dry spell as of late?”

Word got around fast and it would be unwise to trick your best friend into believing the brick in your stomach that’s been dragging you down for the past two months never even existed. Ever since your childhood sweetheart Bucky returned to the land of the living, you have been living the life of a refugee. Conveniently enough he took up a job as Steve’s bodyguard, accompanying him on all his official visits until a couple of street rats tried to harass you on your way from a (shady) business meeting. Steve didn’t take it too kindly even though you tried to brush if off as a one-time misfortune. The next morning he decided Bucky would be of more use protecting you and he has been reassigned to you ever since.

Of course Steve is aware of your shared history but that doesn’t make him think of Bucky any less. They seem to get along just fine, as if they’ve known each other for ages already, which feeds your concern all the more. But there’s no need to worry excessively, at least not yet.

“Don’t pry, Nat, we have a healthy sex life. There’s something extremely arousing about that clean-shaven poster boy exterior and it feels just so good to sit on that self-righteous face of his you have no idea,” you admit before casually drawing a generous amount of wine.

She snorts at this, obviously amused by your statement. “Damn, Y/N, feeling blunt are we? I remember a time where you went at it like a pair of sex-crazy rabbits and knowing Tony, I believe he was rarely dressed for the occasion, if you know what I mean,” she retorts with a cheeky grin, sarcasm lacing her words sweet as honey but the sour undertone does not escape your attentive ears.

“And now I have a wonderful daughter. Nat, I know where this is coming from. I love Casey and I love Steve,” you reassure as her eyes squint in suspicion, shooting you a wary smile, “I’m not going to fuck up a long-term relationship, again.”

“I’m sorry,” she concedes with a deep sigh, reaching across the table to take your hand in hers. She gives it a gently squeeze before speaking again, this time more cautiously. “But be honest with me here, Y/N, I need to know. Do you have anything to do with Sharon’s disappearance?”

The question takes you completely by surprise, it is as if she’s taken a knife from your kitchen drawer and stabbed you in the back while you weren’t paying attention. “Why do you ask me?,” you spit out, venom fighting its way towards the tip of your tongue.

“She’s dead, Y/N, that’s why I’m asking you. Clint told me so and I have no reason to doubt him. If he tells me she’s dead, she’s dead. I take his word for it.”

“I can’t say that I have.” Your jaw is set tight, your gaze as sharp as a razor, cutting through her stony exterior. For a minute, her mask of indifference slowly slips from her striking features.

“So it is true, I can see it in your eyes,” she hisses back at you. “I didn’t think you had it in you. Bucky took care of it, I presume? He would give his life for you, so I wouldn’t be all too surprised to hear he got rid of that nasty serpent for you. Doesn’t change the fact that you now also have blood on your hands, little birdie.”

Little birdie, it’s been a long time since anyone called you little birdie. It was always Tony’s favourite pet name for you and Steve quickly picked up on it as well. But never Natasha, she thought it to be too sickly sweet for a woman with your particular skillset, your particular ambitions.

“Natasha Romanova,” I whisper through gritted teeth, “You do not understand the severity of the situation.”

She doesn’t flinch but she does let go of my hand. Nat pours herself another glass and greedily devours it without so much as blinking an eye. “Then explain it to me,” she says dryly, “Or our friendship ends here.”

I swallow thickly at the sting of her words slowly conquering my mind. “You mustn’t tell anyone,” I insist, cupping her hands with mine. Her gaze softens and I know she is willing to hear me out. “As you well know, Steve and I went behind Peggy’s back long before she got sick. I was his mistress and I’m not proud of it.”

It’s how I earned the title of Manhattan mistress. It was a well-known secret that for two consecutive years I was the other woman in Steve Rogers’ life up until his wife Peggy was diagnosed with cancer. Not a fibre in my body wanted to put a stop to the relationship – by that time I had already fallen head over heels in love with the man – yet I albeit begged Steve to let me go because there’s nothing more appalling than go behind the back of a terminally ill woman. He did as I asked him to but couldn’t stay away for long and one month later he was barging down my door, teary-eyed and trembling from having walked all the way from his Brooklyn home to my Manhattan penthouse in the freezing winter cold.

For a long time you though you only offered him some kind of a physical release for all his pent-up frustration but slowly you had also wormed your way into his heart and that night alone was enough proof of his undying love for and devotion to you. It’s safe to say you are very determined to keep it that way.

“But, you see, it’s only a matter of time before he cheats on me as well. Look at it as an insurance policy,” you stated as you took the stem of your glass in your hand and swirled the wine around, too preoccupied by the subtle glow of the deep red in the early evening light to notice the dirty look Natasha send you.

“He wouldn’t dare. The things that man did to clear his name after the scandal broke out, he wouldn’t dare bring more dishonour on his already blemished name. He loves his job way too much for that to happen.”

You draw a long breath, exhaling slowly as you smooth down the skirt of your sapphire dress, Steve’s favourite because it matches his eyes. “My dearest Natasha, I can’t risk losing Steve. You’ve seen the way Sharon looked at him and I have no intention whatsoever to get surprised like a deer in the headlights. She did however see it coming yet made no attempt to escape my gun. But I took no pleasure in it, I did not enjoy taking her life.”

“And you asked Bucky to dispose of her dead body.”

“He’s the only one I trust to deal with the matter discreetly. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“Y/N, he’d take a bullet for you if you’d ask him to. Of course he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

“Don’t say such things, Natasha,” you scowl at her. “Steve, he would,” you start but she promptly cuts you off, raising a perfectly manicured red fingernail to silence you.

“Oh cut the crap, Y/N. I get it, Steve’s a wonderful husband bla bla bla. Even Tony would put his life on the line for you, he’s a sucker for your charms and everyone knows you’re that motherfucker’s weak spot. Hell, they even tried to use it against him. But not Steve. He might care for Casey like she’s his own daughter but don’t be mistaken, Y/N, politics have changed him. He’s not the same man who was married to Peggy, the man you fell in love with.”

She shakes her head at your foolishness and you can’t believe her nerve. You can take a lot of shit from a lot of people and that includes your best friend, but this is way out of line and you intend to make it perfectly clear to her that she won’t pull this trick on you twice without suffering the consequences.

“Don’t you ever dare speak like that about Steve or else I will order your execution and have your head on a silver plate by noon. Steve worked very hard to get this far up the food chain. No one, not even you, is going to take that away from him. From me. We’re a family now, Steve, Casey and I. If anyone messes with my family I swear to God they’ll pay for it.”

You finish your rant with a frustrated groan. Nat looks at you flatly, sighing exasperatedly and looking at you through thick black lashes. “If you want Steve to commit, why not get pregnant again?”

She grins wickedly and you grace her with your most conniving smile. “I’ve thought about that, too. Unfortunately it didn’t work for Tony but then again nothing ever seemed to work for that man, he could never keep his hands to himself even before we got married,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Nat. “So what makes you think it’ll work for Steve?”

She looks at you unabashed, a glint of surprise sparkling in her eyes like gold tinsel on a Christmas tree. “Steve wants children, he never got the chance with Peggy. Besides, you’ve always liked the idea of a picture perfect family, a white picket fence and 2-and-a-half kids. You’ve already got Casey, what’s keeping you from getting knocked up again? I bet you’ll have a lot of fun in doing so.”

You nod wordlessly, no harm done in trying, right?

“Mark my words,” she adds mischievously, “He will love you forever if you give him his own child.”


	2. The friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another conversation with Natasha. Steve’s got a very unusual way of showing his love for his wife.

“Still sore?,” Natasha asks as she hands me an icepack to hold against my inner thighs. I wince when the cold first settles in but soon enough it soothes the burning sensation that has me chained to the living room couch. “Rough night?” Her voice is as light as a summer’s breeze and a little smile curls her lips upwards, it’s only a shame it doesn’t quite reach her gloomy eyes.

“Yeah, you can say that.”

Steve and Bucky had gone out to celebrate Steve’s victory. Steve wanted you there by his side but you had failed to arrange a babysitter for the night. No-one would be around the house to watch Casey and she was still far too young to accompany you to Wilson’s bar, so you offered to stay home instead. He gave you one final peck on the cheek and left with the promise of returning home at a respectable time.

It was already well past midnight when Steve finally made his way to your bedroom, a whiff of alcohol on his breath and a very evident hard-on suffering in his pants. As he crawled in the bed next to you, his arm snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him.

“You know what Buck told me today?,” he murmurs darkly, his words a little slurred. “You wanna know what he said?”

I have had my fair share of experiences with drunken men and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all these interactions, it’s not to thwart a man speaking with a tiddly tongue and sex on his mind. I’m going to give him a run for his money in the morning.

“What did he say baby?,” I coo seductively, rolling over in his arms so I’m facing him directly. He looks at me through hooded eyes and I can taste the whiskey on his tongue as he leans in to kiss me. It’s hardly elegant, all tongues and teeth and very sloppy. He trails open-mouthed kisses down my neck and on my collarbone until he reaches the valley of my breasts while his fingers ease their way down my stomach and into my heat.

“You’re so wet baby, I can smell you from a mile away,” he purrs into my ear before nibbling on my ear lobe, his digits dancing across my exposed skin in a tango d’amore, skimming just the right spots with the right amount of pressure. For a moment I let go, his fingers milking my orgasm. “That’s my girl, my Manhattan mistress.” An involuntary shiver runs down my spine and I have to swallow my pride hard, trying not to slap him and wipe that victorious smirk off of his beautifully smug face.

“He told me you’re the best lay he’s ever had,” Steve answers darkly, getting off the bed and dragging me out behind him. “Take off your clothes honey,” he demands and I heed to his request, shedding myself of my nightgown as Steve does the same, all the while eyeing me like a predator watches its prey right before the kill. My fingers work as fast as they can and as soon as the babydoll drops to the floor, his bare skin mingles with mine.

“You like these?,” Steve asks as his hand holds a tight grip on my upper arm, gesturing towards my panties. I can see the darkness overtaking his features and I nod quickly, the sooner I can get this over with the better.

“Too bad,” he chuckles and he violently pushes me back on the bed, positioning himself between my legs and hooking his fingers around the hem of my lace underwear, forcefully sliding them down my legs and ripping the fragile fabric along the way. He tosses them somewhere across the room before turning his attention back to me, pouncing on me as the weight of his body locks me into place.

“Well you know what, his best lay is now mine and I’m going to prove it to everyone who dare say otherwise,” he whispers before lining himself up at my entrance, already too far gone to amuse both of us with more foreplay. Then again, this isn’t about indulgence anymore, this is about a man marking his woman as his own.

“Oh fuck, Y/N, so tight.” His words of praise fall on deaf ears as I bite down on my lip, stifling a moan when he fully sheathes himself inside my cunt, giving me no time to adjust to his generous size. He instantly rolls his hips against mine, pushing into me as far as my tight entrance would allow.

“Give it to me, Stevie,” I whisper as he bottoms out. “I’m yours.”

I take great pride in the fact I’ve found such a well-endowed man. Not that Tony wasn’t impressive as well but Steve, damn, his dick looks like a starter, main and dessert, the thick vein underneath pulsating on my tongue every single time I suck him off. This politician sure likes his blowjob before breakfast.

My nails are raking down his chiselled back, red decorating his ripped muscles as I claw my way under his skin, I am not going to let him forget about tonight that easily. His athletic body is sweat-slicked, his laboured breaths announcing his impending orgasm. “You take my cock like such a good girl, you’re such a good girl you know that?”

Of course I do.

His pace is brutal, pounding into me with reckless abandon, crossing the thin fine line between mindless sex and a raw fucking on multiple occasions. It’s absolutely filthy and you can’t help but like it. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum.”

Steve feels like the missing piece to my puzzle, the pain always translating into pleasure. I feel his fingers grip on my waist even tighter, his chest pushing my legs further up my body, the new position stretching it in such a delicious way, making it all the more easy for him to hit that sweet spot that has my toes curling in delight.

That night, just like every other night, you fall apart – together.

“Y/N, was he drunk?” Natasha’s brows are knitted together in concern but she need to fear for you, you’re a good girl after all.

“He was just frustrated, that’s all,” you brush off her worry, showing her your best poker face. Nat doesn’t need to know what inspired Steve’s sudden anger. She doesn’t need to know Bucky tried to rekindle your romance and you blew him off. She doesn’t need to know that said man decided to rub it in Steve’s face that he too once called you his best girl just to get on your nerves.

Well, truth is Bucky never left your mind either. “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy it, it’s just… I’ve never seen my sweet Stevie like this. So feral, so animalistic in his desire.”

Steve didn’t like being called out like that and took a swing at Bucky, but Bucky used to be quite the talented and skilful boxer when he was a bit younger, so he easily outmatched Steve in his own game. Sam had to calm both men down, ordering Clint to drive Steve home whilst telling Bucky to take a walk and get some air before coming back in and be on the receiving end of a stern talking-to.

Sam doesn’t tolerate this kind of behaviour in his bar, especially not when it involves me. Sam suspects Bucky is up to something and he has confided in me about his suspicions a long time ago but I didn’t think too much of it at the time. Nevertheless, what went down between Steve and Bucky is worth investigating because something tells me I’ve not been on the receiving end of the full story here.

“You’re straying into dangerous territory, Y/N. Tony was bad enough as it is, you don’t need a second abusive husband.”

“Like I don’t know that,” you bite back, carding a hand through your messed-up hair. You barely even made it out of your bed and down the stairs, you hadn’t even bothered combing your hair or thinking about looking presentable. Besides, Nat had seen you in a far worse state than this, a remembrance you rather not pay any mind. “But I rather have him release all his pent-up anger during sex with me than have him bumping uglies with some girl he has been keeping on the side.”

“Y/N,” Nat warns, “You deserve better than a husband who beats the crap out of you. You don’t want a child with someone like that.”

“I already have a child with someone like that,” you remind her. “I appreciate it, Nat, but Steve has never done anything even remotely close to the misery Tony put me through.”

The first year of your marriage to Tony had been splendid, with long days and long nights spent wrapped up in each other’s arms, making love until the stars fell out of the sky. That is, until a shit storm came along and the tables turned drastically. From then on Tony was easily provoked and you had to walk on egg shells whenever he was around the house. The lovemaking had been replaced by just a proper fucking and the sweet nothings he used to whisper in your ear during aftercare had been thrown out with the trash, a series of profanities littering his lips instead.

It wasn’t that you did something wrong, in fact you tried everything in your power to have him come back to you every night, share your bed with the same amount of passion he used to dote you with when you first started seeing each other. Sometimes a fight would escalate and Tony would hit you even though he’s never been violent before. You were shook the first time, but the second time you fought back and made sure some of your father’s men beat some sense into him.

Love is more than a fickle game, it’s absolute madness and one day it drove you over the edge. His indifference was met with ferocity as you refused to put up with his shit for any longer than necessary, he had a responsibility towards you as his wife for fuck’s sake. Realisation quickly dawned upon him and he never laid a finger on you or, so you promised him, you would cut off his junk personally if he ever did so again.

9 months later you gave birth to Casey. Tony was very invested in his daughter and it felt like you were reliving the first year of your marriage all over again. But history has a way of repeating itself, you just didn’t think that it would happen to you and Steve.

“Then why aren’t you pregnant yet?,” Nat scoffs and you grit your teeth. “Hey, don’t get your panties in a twist, girl. I’m just trying to help you out, that’s all.”

“We’ve been going at it for a month straight now and still without result. I’ve tried everything, from being a good sub to punishing him like a good dom.”

“Maybe you’ve been trying to please him too much, maybe that’s your problem. You are being too good for him, you are a fucking mob boss for fuck’s sake! You don’t need to put up a front anymore for him. Your father is dead, he can’t scold you anymore for your past mistakes. Maybe it’s time Steve gets to know the real Y/N. Remember Peggy? That girl could swear like a sailor and she still managed to end up between his sheets and with a ring on her finger.”

“Steve fell for the shy girl-next-door, attempting to escape a broken marriage and raise her child the right way. A sweet girl, a goodgirl raised by a cruel father and an absent mother. What if he doesn’t like this me, a bad girl who keeps a gun in her lingerie drawer and knows exactly how to use it, who is not afraid to use it. What if he shuns me?”

“Like I said before, Steve isn’t the same guy anymore either,” Nat utters in her defence, “He’s toughened up. There might be a lot he doesn’t know about you, but I bet there’s also a lot you don’t know about him. He’s too good a politician.”

“Alright, I’ll take it under consideration, I don’t want him spending any more time at Sam’s place than he does already.”

“So I take it you heard about that pretty new singer over at Sam’s bar? A redhead with twinkly brown eyes, legs to die for and sings like a nightingale? Jess I think her name was?”

You nod, your heart sinking in your shoes. “How could I not? He’s raving about her to every damn soul that steps through those doors.”

“What are you going to do about it? Perhaps you should give Clint a call, don’t you think? A beautiful girl like that can even corrupt the most honest man,” she says with a knowing smile.

“Yes, I’m aware,” I concede, releasing a deep breath. She’s right, after all we are that kind of woman too.

As soon as Natasha leaves the house, I pick up the phone myself and dial Clint’s number. He doesn’t pick up straightaway and I leave him a voicemail. “Just get your ass over here when you’re done messing around with your protégé, Wanda. I know you are fucking Pietro’s sister, Clint, I heard you. You owe me for not telling Nat.”

The doorbell rings about 10 minutes later. I’m brewing coffee in the kitchen, mindlessly flipping Clint’s business card with his number on it between my fingers. The maid, Maria, immediately moves to open the door and I hear Clint’s heavy footsteps resonating on the pristine marble floor. He turns around the corner and smiles just a little. Clint’s never been big on showing any emotions.

“What’s up boss?,” he asks and I gesture for him to sit down at the table. He takes his coffee black, no sugar and no milk, just like Natasha does.

“Clinton, I need you to take care of some loose ends for me. You know the new girl, Jess, the one that now sings at Sam’s establishment?”

Clint has always been one of my father’s most loyal follower’s and upon his death, Clint has proven his allegiance to me on more than one occasion. As a sign of my gratitude, I introduced him to my best friend Natasha. For me to introduce Clint to someone of my inner circle is one of the highest signs of respect you can get from a mob boss. He has not disappointed me yet, although his dalliance with Wanda is highly unfortunate. But I trust him to keep my secrets so it’s only fair I keep his, God knows how many skeletons there are in Nat’s closet. They don’t call her the Black Widow for nothing, any man who dares to flirt with her and disappoint her in the sack ends up with a bullet in his back, or so the story goes.

“Yeah, I’ve heard her a couple of times. Easy on the eyes and a nice voice. What about her, boss?”

I groan inwardly at his comment, his words tearing through the tension building in my bones, but I choose to remain professional about it. “I need you to make her an offer she can’t refuse. Here, take this,” I say as I hand him over one of my checks, “Make sure she gets the message. It’s all or nothing and if she hasn’t skipped town by the end of the day, then she doesn’t value her life as much as I thought she did.”

Clint gives me a puzzled look. “You know the drill,” I explain sternly. “A bullet between the eyes and be sure to make it a clean shot. I don’t want Sam to complain to me about the clean-up afterwards.”

Clint gets up from his seat, nodding in acknowledgement. “For what it’s worth, I like your voice better, boss. Less Disney, you know,” he chuckles and you grace him with half a smile. “Boss, where’s your watchdog? Did Steve fire him after their quarrel?”

“He’s tied up elsewhere,” I reply dryly, looking up from the contents of my coffee cup with a scowl. “Steve took him out for drinks at Sam’s bar. He wants to resolve their issues away from prying eyes.”

“Boss, if I may be so forward as to bother you with a personal question?,” Clint asks, straightening his back.

“Yes, Clint?,” I sigh, exhaling loudly.

“You know I am on your side, boss, so if there’s anything else you want me to do, a more delicate issue you want me to take care of, I’ll do it.”

“Speak plainly, please. I don’t have the patience for courtesy right now,” you argue with a pained expression, too tired to deal with all this polite shit.

“What I mean is, if Steve ever hurts you, I’m prepared to take care of it, no questions asked,” he tells you in all honesty and you know he means every word of it.

“Thank you, Clint. Really, I appreciate it more than you know.” You reach out to touch his hand and he lets you take it, squeezing it reassuringly. “But that won’t be necessary. I am perfectly capable of handling the situation on my own.”


	3. The madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam scolds Steve for the things he’s done and hasn’t done. Y/N and Bucky take a trip down memory lane in a very intimate way.

“Penny for your thoughts?,” Sam inquires as he pours Steve another drink. “Come on man, I know there’s something bugging you, spill it.”

Steve looks up from the glass he’s nursing, a wry smile playing on his lips. “It’s Y/N.” He lifts up the glass to his lips, the amber liquid dulling his senses as he drinks it all in one take.

It doesn’t matter how much he drinks, what’s done is done and can’t be made undone. How could he have been so reckless? It wasn’t just the booze that made him lose control, it’s her, it’s always been her. The way she applies her lipstick alone is enough to set his nerves on fire and fuck her from behind. That never happened with Peggy, so what makes Y/N so special?

“What about her? She still good to you?,” Sam mutters lowly, munching on a couple peanuts he’s got stashed away underneath the bar.

“Yeah yeah, all good.” It doesn’t sound very convincing and he knows Sam isn’t buying any of it, but he can’t find it in himself to put up a straight face when all he wants to do is rip his heart out and give it to Y/N.

“Then what is your problem?,” he tries again, this time more persistent. “What’s the matter, Steve. You look like you’ve come down from your high and straight into a pile of shit.”

Steve’s eyes are transfixed on the beverage in front of him, their clear blue shine barely reflecting the inner turmoil eating him up inside out. “It’s just… After, you know… That thing with Bucky,” Steve grimaces, “I just… I didn’t treat her right, Sam.”

“Steve, don’t tell me you didn’t…. You raped her, didn’t you? You fucking raped her!,” Sam exclaims sharply, shaking his head in disgust as he slams the glass he’s holding on the bar. It shatters on impact and Sam begrudgingly takes a towel to clean it up, pulling a couple stray shards from his hand and wiping the blood away before addressing Steve again.

“You fucking bastard,” he murmurs under his breath, although still loud enough for Steve to hear it.

“Fucking hell, Sam,” Steve scowls at his friend, taken aback by his accusation. “I did no such thing. I love my wife.”

Sam didn’t reply, just glowered at his friend. Steve leans back in his chair, fingers tapping on the counter of the bar. “Just wasn’t thinking clearly, Bucky got me so worked up and I just couldn’t… I couldn’t resist her. Lately she’s been insatiable, we’ve been fucking everywhere. We almost got caught doing it in the backseat of my car. I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to… you know,” Steve admits softly, his voice dropping an octave to make sure no one is able to listen in on their conversation.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to not use protection and just fuck her into the matrass. I didn’t even stop to think about her feelings, I was purely acting on impulse. It was selfish of me and man, I regret it so much. I desperately want to make it up to her.”

“Shit Steve,” Sam forcefully shoves Steve’s shoulder, forcing him to meet his penetrating gaze. “She’s your wife, pal,” he adds bitterly, arms crossed over his chest. “You don’t treat your wife like you treat your whore.”

“She’s the only one for me, Sam. That business with Peggy and Y/N and me, that’s not gonna happen again.” Steve cautions, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “Like I said, I really want to make it up to her. You still looking for a new singer after that gal Jess bolted on you?”

“Matter of fact I do,” he confirms with a nod of his head.

Ever since she was old enough to take singing classes, Y/N’s been performing at Wilson’s bar, making some extra money to pay for make-up or jewellery or whatever she fancied at the moment. She continued to stay on as Sam’s main act during her marriage with Tony and people came from far to see and hear her take the stage and own it. But it all changed when she married Steve and he asked her to quit for his benefit so she could focus all her attention on his campaign.

“Consider it done,” said Sam with a grin. Steve thanks him, asking for another round which he hesitantly provides. No need to get the man as inebriated as he was the last time, he isn’t going to risk the Manhattan mistress’s wrath a second time. Even the ancient Greek knew that hell hath no fury like a scorned woman and knowing Y/N, she wasn’t going to let it slide.

If it wasn’t for Y/N, Sam would’ve gone breakeven a long time ago and it’s not just because of her insane singing talents. Many strangers come and go but there’s one thing he can always count on and that’s his weekly delivery of illegal booze. No drugs in his bar and certainly no prostitutes, although he does occasionally commit the carnal sin when he visits one of Laufeyson’s strip clubs or Fury’s poker games where there are always an abundance of girls begging for his attention.

There’s not a doubt in his right mind that she knows about this, Laufeyson and Fury were her father’s colleagues and now they work for her. Y/N has dirt on everyone but nobody has anything on her, it’s why Sam respects her so much. Not because she’s born to be a mob boss but because she’s the mob through and through. Fuck, that girl breathes the mob life and they’re all lining up for a taste.

“And what about Bucky?,” Sam raises his eyebrows at Steve, his eyes never leaving his face, watching him like a hawk. “You two worked things out already?”

“Yeah, Sam, we’re good. He didn’t mean to get under my skin like that, said he’s sorry and I believe him.”

“You got to keep an eye out for that boy, Steve. Things might be good again between you two, but he’s after Y/N, I can feel it,” Sam sneered.

“Sam,” Steve growls lowly, not liking where this conversation is headed, “What woman would want to fuck her husband’s brains out on a daily basis if she’s going at it with another man?”

Meanwhile…

“Tell me what happened after I left,” Bucky asks, his eyes travelling from the clock on his bedside table to your face resting on his bare chest. It’s 5:20 a.m. in the morning and you realise you haven’t slept in more than 24 hours.

Bucky had asked you to accompany him for dinner, his way of apologising for infuriating Steve. It was supposed to be a quiet night out, filled with light conversation and simple friendship, if it weren’t for the way his hand wandered further down to grab a handful of your ass while you were waiting for a cab to take you to the restaurant or the many stolen glances you threw his way, entranced by his flirtations and captivated by his signature lopsided grin.

You felt your resolve crumble quickly, your resistance wearing thin. All it took was Bucky’s lust-blown eyes locking with yours to change your mind about him and you left the restaurant in quite the hurry, fuelled by the promise of sex and other delicacies. As soon as you set foot in his bedroom, your dress is discarded quickly and you are pushed onto the bed faster than you can say fuck. After your third orgasm, Bucky calls in a time-out and orders room service. But some cherries, chocolate and champagne aren’t going to slow down your sex drive. You have missed him for way too many years to let this opportunity slide past you.

“If I’m going to trust you with my story, you’re going to have to earn that trust again,” you say while taking a cherry between your lips, sucking it seductively and eying Bucky who releases a low growl in response to your teasing. You decide to one-up him and moan loudly in both mock and pleasure. The cherry disappears into your mouth and you roll your eyes in delight before addressing the hungry man at your side. He looks positively fucked, dishevelled long hair sticking out in odd directions and designer bags underneath his million dollar baby blues.

“What do you want to know?” Bucky’s thumb brushes away a stray drop of juice escaping from your lips before catching another one, bringing it to his mouth and twirling his tongue around it, licking it clean. He’s teasing you and you let him, a giggle slipping from your lips as you tenderly peck his cheek.

“Everything, doll, I wanna know everything,” he says as he licks his finger one last time, releasing it from his mouth with a loud pop. He smirks and kisses your forehead. “I want to hear how much you missed me.”

His hands trace the curve of your hips, two naked bodies moulded together in perfect unison. You’re leaning into his side before you decide to switch things up a little and swing your legs over his so you’re now straddling his waist, laughing softly as his cock brushes against your clit. “You’re beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off you, darling.”

“So I’ve noticed. You can’t keep your hands to yourself, daddy dearest,” you joke, unable to fight back a flirty smile.

“If it were up to me, you’d never wear any clothes ever again. I’d do all kinds of dirty things to you, doll.”

“Like this?”, you inquire mischievously as your fingers lace around his neck, caressing his 5 o’clock shadow as you apply just enough pressure to have him gasping for breath but nearly not enough to choke him. You hum contentedly as you sensually roll your hips against his, with a coy grin and very slow on purpose. It exhilarates him and you feel Bucky’s growing erection press against your inner thigh.

Grinning at your playful antics, he places his hands on top of yours and gives it the tiniest squeeze. You release him from your teasing and cup his jaw, brushing your fingers over his bottom lip. He takes your thumb between his teeth, giving it a playful bite before grazing his pearly whites against the next digit.

He lets out a wanton whimper at the loss of your warmth when you move away from him, sitting up cross-legged on the king-sized bed and still stark-naked, the royal blue sheets doing little to hide your exposed cunt from his view, nipples hardening when a breeze flows past the open window and strokes your bare skin. “I’ll tell you everything if you make me one, simple promise.”

Bucky takes a seat behind you, pulling your back against his sculpted chest, his arms enveloping you and keeping you sheltered. “You name it,” he whispers against your ear, voice gruff and low and very sexy.

You tilt your head to take a good look at him, noticing his gaze lingers momentarily on your luscious breasts before clearing his throat and returning his attention to your eyes. Against your better judgment, your hand lifts on its own accord and touch his cheek, caressing the corners of his beautiful eyes. “Never lie to me. You can give me all the dirty talk you want, but I don’t tolerate dishonesty.”

He nods, your request more than fair to him. “You have my word, Y/N.” His breath fans over your shoulder, lips littering your neck with butterfly kisses. You indulge yourself with his touch, taking hold of his hands and guiding them over every inch of your skin, allowing them to shamelessly roam your body. They dance your curves a little longer before steadying themselves around you once again.

You entangle your legs with his, creating enough leeway for his slender fingers to enter you. Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, you feel his girth press against the small of your back the more you climb up the mountain of your release. When you’re close to the top, so close, you retreat and change into an alternate position on the bed. Bucky’s body falls into the cushions, supporting his back as you lower your hips to ride him, using his broad shoulders as an anchor.

“Y/N.” Your name falls from his lips like a sermon as you rock your hips back and forth on his cock, Bucky meeting you hallway, his hips jutting forward as you go down. “Y/N, God, Y/N, I love you,” he moans before he buries his face between your breasts, licking and sucking and biting at your sensitive skin.

It’s a lazy fuck, soft and slow and nothing compared to the passionate fucking you enjoyed three times in a row this very night. You rest your forehead against his, never breaking eye contact and his hands caress your thighs while you remain in sync, bodies perfectly balanced. The rhythm is comfortable and soon enough your bodies are convulsing, coming undone at the same time, Bucky whispering hot and dirty things into your ear.

The sweet relief calms you down, although the rapture is something you can’t control and your lips are drawn to each other in a romantic kiss. He’s still sheathed inside you, unable to conclude the intimacy of the action, heightening your blossoming feelings still. The kiss is an endeavour to make it last for as long as your sore bodies will allow it. You are tired but in that moment it doesn’t matter, too drunk on each other’s scent. You try to get a read on him, staring into his stormy blue eyes when you realise you haven’t just given your body, but your soul as well. You have just made love with Bucky Barnes.

You don’t want this to end here, in his fancy hotel room, on stained sheets and neighbours that are sure to leave a complaint with the hotel manager the next morning. You can’t bring yourself to miss his touch, his loving embrace, not again. “This isn’t a one-time thing, isn’t it?”, you whisper to his lips, heart beating erratically, afraid he’ll say no.

“There’s just something about you Y/N. I saw it all those years ago and I still see it now. You have an edge, the way you carry yourself is fascinating. I’m never going to let you go. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Bucky whispers back before kissing you kindly.

“I love you, too, Buck. Never stopped loving you, in case you’re wondering.” You tease his face with a gentle nudge of the tip of your nose, momentarily closing your eyes before inhaling deeply, trying to get your act together. You’re a mistress once more.


	4. The havoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to get to know Wanda, Natasha and Pietro a little better.

There are two kinds of hookers, one good and one bad. Good hookers give you half a blowjob and let you fuck them without complaining. They accept your cash at the end of the deed and that is that, no more fuss and no more contact. Natasha used to be like that and you remember when your father brought her to the house to have his way with her. The mob boss was known for his brutality and he treated his sluts with the same respects as he would treat a stray dog.

Just like many others she was forced into prostitution in order to pay for her student loans but don’t be mistaken, Nat was no ordinary girl. She’d do her job properly because she didn’t know anything else to do, although there was always a fire of defiance burning brighter and brighter behind those dark eyes and cheeky smile. You paid the pimp Bruce, who coincidentally is also her ex, a handsome amount of money to release her into your care and you’ve been inseparable ever since.

Nat was young and vulnerable when Bruce got a hold of her and he moulded her into the perfect prostitute. Bruce isn’t all that bad but he has a low tolerance for disobedience and seems to be always angry. If there’s something like a Stockholm syndrome for prostitutes and their handlers, than Natasha most definitely has it. It took you months before you could finally convince her that he was no good for her and yet she kept coming back to him after she’d hit a rough patch. He’d provide her with uppers and downers and all that shit which was also partly to blame for her addiction to this awful man. You’re just happy she eventually pulled the plug on him, or rather, the trigger.

Unfortunately Wanda is the latter. She was one of Loki’s high-end escorts until he found out she was robbing the customers of their money and other valuable items. He kicked her out and two days later Fury arrested her for soliciting. Her brother Pietro begged you to get her out of jail, he is one of your favourite employees and since Fury is a dirty cop and on your father’s payroll for as long as you can remember, all it took was one phone call and she had her freedom back. You sent Clint to pick her up at the police station and told him to bring her to the mansion. She stayed for approximately two weeks and by the looks of it, she stepped up her game since the last time you saw her.

Wearing expensive clothing only a sugar daddy could have provided her with, the woman now sitting in front of you is in full control of her sexuality, long auburn hair falling in waves down her back and scarlet-brown eyes smirking at me from behind her cocktail, a Manhattan and you know for a fact that when she ordered it, she solely did it to provoke you. “What did you want to talk to me about?” the little vixen asks, clicking her tongue and looking at you with malice in her eyes.

You’ve been singing at Sam’s bar again and business has never been better. You absolutely love the attention you receive from some of your most loyal fans, Bucky included. Nevertheless something’s been bothering you and in order to put the matter to bed, you need a spy. You absolutely despise Wanda but for the sake of maintaining your control, you sometimes have to put your own personal issues aside and focus on the bigger picture. Clint passed on a message to Wanda for you, telling her you wanted to meet with her at the end of your shift.

Slowly you take another sip of your drink, eyeing her intently, the material hiking up a little higher as she crosses her legs. It gives you a great view of her choice of underwear or rather the lack thereof. This girl has a nerve going commando to a rendezvous with none other than the Manhattan mistress. “You have a debt that needs to be paid. You know who I am, don’t you? And I’m not talking about my nickname.”

A lot of parents didn’t want their children to attend Casey’s birthday party because of your reputation and it pained your heart to see your daughter so unhappy and not being able to explain to her why they’d cancelled all of a sudden. Steve however did a great job at damage-control and told Casey a very sugar-coated version of how mommy and him fell in love, saying lots of people didn’t understand what you and Steve felt for each other and as a result of their ignorance tried to sabotage the relationship before it had even started.

Wanda gives you a curt nod of her head. “I know who you are. And thank you for not telling anyone.”

It happened by accident really. You were collecting your stuff from your dressing room after opening night and heard muffled sounds coming from Sam’s office. Unaware of a new woman in Sam’s life and vaguely recognising the male voice as Clint’s, you carefully opened the door to take a peak only to see Clint buried balls deep in Wanda’s tight hole, his hand on her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

Clint has gained your respect but the only thing Wanda gained from you was disgust. Not in a position to judge either of them, you closed the door again and walked away, all the while thinking out a plan to put this new kind of information to good use. “Natasha is my best friend and I care deeply for her. She’ll kill you as soon as she finds out. I want to make you a deal, my silence in exchange for your services.”

Wanda seems to think it over for a second, her hands fidgeting in her lap. One of Sam’s regulars asks him to change the music and a slow song starts playing in the background. She seems to recognise the first notes and momentarily looks thrown off. I briefly wonder what’s so special about this particular song until I remember she used to date this guy named Vision, a well-known musician and this just happens to be his greatest hit, one of many he wrote in her name.

“I’m not going to ask you to do things you don’t want to do,” I reassure her, beckoning Sam over with a wave of my hand. He fills up our glasses, smiling politely at Wanda and me before returning to his fixed spot behind the bar. “I just want you to be my eyes and ears for me, here, at the bar. I’ve already made the necessary arrangements with Sam. No more picking men up from the streets, from now on you’ll be waitressing instead.”

She seems to be content with the offer, agreeing quickly. “That sounds fair.”

The door opens and a gust of wind causes goose bumps to erupt on her skin. A male slides in the booth next to me, throwing his arm around my shoulders and pecking my cheek lightly before greeting Wanda with a cheeky smile. “Hi sister, good to see you again,” the silver-haired individual says. “What’s going on? Boss giving you a hard time?”

“That’s none of your business, Piet,” she retorts with a grin. Her eyes lock with mine, silently asking for my permission to leave which I grant without much hesitation. This conversation is not meant for her ears and I don’t want her here anymore. I simply can’t stand the girl any longer and the only reason I tolerate her around me is because she’s screwing Clint and her brother Pietro is one of my trustees. But as soon as she’s done what I set her out to do, I’ll throw her straight into Natasha’s claws. She’ll know what to do with her and no-one will be able to trace it back to me.

Pietro leans closer until his lips caress the shell of my ears as he whispers his message, finishing with a flirty “You look so damn delicious in that little black dress, boss. Shame you’re already spoken for.”

Pietro started out working for me as I first took over the empire after my father’s death. Much like Bucky, he was a mere errant boy, quick on his feet and eager to please, nothing too difficult for him to take care of. Roughly 4 months later I promoted him.

“Oh shut it, Speedy,” I grin back, ruffling his already tousled silver hair and he graces me with a genuine laugh, one that inspires me to laugh as well. He’s a fine-looking chap with a good heart and a sharp mind but unfortunately the drugs have got a tight grip on him, speed being his biggest vice. “Better tell me what you found out about that bitch.”

Loki takes care of the girls and the drugs, Nick runs the casino’s and laundries the dirty money. But I would never trust both of them with a job as delicate as buying and selling information. Stocks and shares, as my father liked to call it, has always been the mob’s main priority. Pietro is in charge of New York’s finest secrets and yesterday I asked him to run a background check on a woman of particular interest to me.

“Pepper Pots, Stark’s newest lay, has been around for a very long time. Works with a certain schedule and according to my informants, she’s been targeting rich men all over the country. Looks like Tony’s next.”

Pietro fishes his cell phone from the pocket of his dress jacket, holding it out for me to take a look at some of the evidence he gathered. “This is all the proof you need, boss.”

I first heard about Pepper Pots at Casey’s birthday party when Tony introduced her to Steve and myself. Wearing a white jumpsuit that accentuated her slim figure, she smiled at me with perfect teeth and a haughty posture, treating me as if I’m beneath her and excuse me if that didn’t sit well with me. It’s bad enough not everyone who was invited showed up, but that Tony’s skank thinks less of me is something I cannot swallow.

I watched her intently the entire time, how she snuggles up to Tony and palms his dick when she thinks nobody’s watching or how her handshake is just a tad firmer when she’s greeting women that could be a potential threat to her claim on my ex-husband. She was establishing her dominance and now I am about to establish mine.

“There are pictures of her with various men, all around Tony’s age. Much to my surprise, she’s actually a natural blonde. Who would’ve thought, eh?,” he jokes and I laugh lightly, shoving his biceps with the back of my hand. His fingers rest on my upper thigh, tenderly stroking and tracing nonsense patterns on my soft skin.

Our history started during the hiatus between my divorce to Tony and my first encounter with Steve. I was horny and he was the first man to show a genuine interest in me, no need to gift-wrap it. I was in need of some cock and he was willing to tend to my needs. “Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter under my breath and Pietro snickers, his hand moving a little higher.

All men stayed clear from me out of fear for Tony’s wrath but not Pietro. He went all out trying to swoon me and we shared one hell of a passionate night, burned into my memory until the end of days. “Doesn’t seem like Tony’s type at all to me,” Pietro confesses and I shrug in response.

“Who knows what his type is, he’s fucked so many already.” The notion does awaken a certain green monster of jealousy inside of me and suddenly I can understand why Bruce did what he did. That man had a short fuse and Natasha liked to push his buttons just to see how far she could take it. Unfortunately it resulted in only more pain and Bruce was happy to return to his duties as a lover boy once the storm had blown over, picking up schoolgirls and offering them the way to paradise only to introduce them to the ways of the night after talking them into his bed.

But me and Pietro, it was just sex and nothing more, no feelings or anything else involved. It was fun and we remain friendly, sometimes pushing the boundaries between friendly and intimate but in all innocence, he would never make a move on me knowing I’m still married to another man. Unlike Bucky.

“I’ll ask Buck to pay her a visit when Tony isn’t around,” I discuss with Pietro, placing my hand on his and interlacing our fingers. His expression perks up at the gesture, it’s been a while since he’s felt the delicate brush of a woman’s skin against his own. The poor guy never gets any actions, simply because he’s always too caught up in whatever I order him to do. I should go more easy on him, but the mob life isn’t going to run itself anytime soon.

Pietro scoffs, a few stray strands of hair falling in front of his eyes, their silver glow complimented by the dim lighting of the bar. “I can do it for you,” he states confidently.

“I know you can,” I tell him, gently cupping his face in my hands. “I know you can but this is Tony we’re talking about. The guy’s got a temper and I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re far too valuable to me.”

“Dear Lord, can you be any more perfect? Please don’t flatter me like that, Y/N,” he sighs deeply, “If it weren’t for Steve, I’d fuck you right here right now,” he huffs boldly, leaning into my touch and closing his eyes for a split second before a confident grin tugs at his lips and an idea pops into his silly head, obviously lifting his spirits. “Maybe we can have a threesome?,” he snickers and I remove my hand from his cheek before connecting it with his face as I slap him out of his dreamy haze.

“We seriously gotta find you a lady friend,” I reply jokingly as he rubs his aching cheek, reddening in both pain and embarrassment. “Unfortunately everybody is already spoken for.”

“I did like Jess, you know, the girl that used to sing here. She had a nice pair of tits.”

“That’s all you men can think about, a nice pair of tits and a pussy.” Scowling, I get up from my seat, taking my empty glass with me over to where Sam’s waiting in front of the bar. It’s near closing time and he’s tapping the counter impatiently, always munching on those damn peanuts he can’t seem to get enough of. “Yeah, well, I didn’t like her. Good riddance if you ask me.”

“Boss,” Pietro says as he comes up next to me, leaning against the counter with a cocky nonchalance that suits him like a glove. “She was no match for you, she wasn’t nearly half as talented as you.”

“But you literally just told me you think she was pretty,” I retort, pulling out a couple ten dollar bills and handing them over to Sam who mutters a quiet thank you before disappearing in the back. Turning towards Pietro, I do not recognise the emotion behind his pale eyes, their grey as intriguing as always and brimming with childlike enthusiasm.

“Pretty, yes. But you are gorgeous, boss,” he smirks and I laugh at his compliment.

“Pietro,” I say as I roll my eyes, “You’re such a tease.”

“You love me for it. Besides, somebody has to remind you how fucking stunning you are, boss.” He offers me his arm and I gladly take him up on it, linking our arms as he escorts me outside.

We’ve barely made it outside as a black van pulls up the curb, the sliding doors opening in front of us and two men, equipped with heavy weaponry, pull out their guns and start shooting. Glass shatters all around us and Pietro pushes me away from the crossfire and onto the pavement. Screaming his name in anguish, Sam runs out of his bar and picks me up from where I’ve tumbled to the floor, cocking back his gun as he aims for the intruders.

“There’s a spare gun underneath the bar, go get it, boss,” he yells at me and I do as he tells me. Running inside the establishment, my hands skim the bottom of the counter before they touch the familiar curves of a sleek black Colt Paterson revolver. I check how many rounds there are left and am pleased to see all are accounted for.

“Nobody fucks around with me,” I growl before releasing the trigger and one of my bullets pierces the skull of the youngest shooter. His partner shoves his body onto the street and motions for the driver to get them the hell out of there, their job seemingly done. For now.

Tires speed off, scraping against the asphalt and screeching in our ears. “You motherfuckers,” Sam grunts as he fires another round of bullets in the general directions to where the assailants have driven off. I join his side and frantically look around for Pietro until my eyes land on a lifeless body slumped against the wall, a nasty pool of thick, red blood surrounding him like a halo from hell.

“NO!,” you cry out, rushing over to Pietro’s dead corpse and clutching him in your arms, not caring about the sticky liquid staining your legs and clothes. “No no no no…,” you whimper silently, “They killed my boy. My sweet, beautiful boy.”

A pair of strong arms roughly pulls you up from the ground, your hands reaching out to keep a hold on your friend’s body. “Y/N, we gotta get you outta here real fast. They might try something else, it’s not safe on the streets for you anymore. That was a calculated hit, you hear me?,” he shouts into your ears, shaking you until you come back to your senses.

Thick tears cascade down you cheeks, your jaw clenched in unseen anger. “They’ll pay for what they’ve done, Sam. Every last one of them.”

“I know, I know,” Sam shushes, leading you back to the bar where you’re at least sheltered from curious eyes, gathering on the streets after the initial shock has subsided, gasping at the massacre in front of them. “Let’s get you inside first. Want me to call Steve to pick you up?”

“Not Steve, Bucky, call Bucky,” you say adamantly. Sam guides you towards the nearest barstool and sits you down, holding your face in his hands as he gently forces you to look up into his dark eyes.

“Okay, I’ll call Bucky. Wait here.” You can hear him talking to Bucky on the other end of the phone and just before the line goes dead, he growls lowly at Bucky, insisting he does not inform Steve about this. “Boss gave her orders.”

Sam hands you a couple handkerchiefs to wipe away the blood and the tears and you smile up at him, grateful for such a good friend like Sam. “He’ll be here shortly,” he informs you and he pulls you in for a comforting hug, his earthy cologne soothing to your nerves.

“Sam, I can’t stay here, you know that. I can’t stand doin’ nothin’ but waitin’ around,” you grit your teeth and reach for the gun on the counter only for Sam to stop you and give you a pointed look.

“Don’t even think about going out there now, Y/N,” he warns, taking the gun himself and stuffing it between the waistband of his jeans. It’s still well within your reach but you know better than to mess with Sam as he knows it’s best not to mess with you.

“Those fuckers,” you breathe out sharply, “They fucking assassinated my Pietro and by all that is holy and all that is not, I am going to kill every last one of them.”


	5. The mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re trying to find a lead on Pietro’s murder and well, nothing is as it seems.

“The reason I have invited you today is the following,” you start off with a velvety tone, cooing the two men sitting across from your desk. “One of you is responsible for killing Pietro and I am going to find out which one it is. Tonight.”

You stress that final word with enough determination that shivers run across Loki’s spine yet he greets your accusation with one of his signature sly smiles, trying to keep up a strong front. Fury on the other hand seems to be looking right through you, staring into the distance. His face is blank, not a single emotion to be found behind those empty dark brown eyes. Neither of them speak up and remain motionless, Fury flicking his Cuban cigar between his teeth and Loki seemingly undressing you with his eyes.

“Gentlemen, I trust that by now you know that it is I who runs the streets of Brooklyn. The Manhattan mistress,” you continue with a voice so smooth it drips with an abundance of confidence. “So when I ask you to give me an answer, I’m actually not asking.” You pause briefly to allow your words to sink in, only resuming when Loki’s eyes narrow like the filthy snake he is. “I demand you give me an answer now.”

“Or else what,” Loki challenges, his haughty posture provoking you. Oh, how you long to smack that pretty little grin off of his alabaster face. If the cards had been dealt differently, he would’ve found himself on the receiving end of a good spanking for his self-righteous attitude but right now, you’ll settle for making his walls rattle.

“Son, she’ll kill you point blank, just like she did with Sharon and then Jess,” Fury replies for you. Your head snaps in his direction and you give him a pleased yet wary smile, kinking your eyebrow in both surprise and approval.

“Or I can simply slit your throat,” you add arrogantly, “It’ll be a bit messier but that way I can see you suffer first-hand, experience the light fading from your eyes.”

Fury gives you a curt nod of his head. “She’s the mob boss now, Loki.”

You get up from your chair and move over to sit on the edge of the table right in between your father’s old colleagues. You cross your ankles and as your tight black pencil skirt rides up just a tad along the length of your legs, you notice Loki’s eyes glossing over with lust and you’re fairly sure that if it wasn’t for Fury’s presence he would rape you. Luckily you keep a spare knife strapped onto your upper thigh if that moment should ever arrive, this man is no less vicious than your father.

“Eyes up here,” you reprimand him briskly. You wouldn’t be the first girl he’d forcefully lay a hand on and certainly not the last, considering what he did to that poor girlfriend of his. Not only is he the biggest cheat of all, he is also a wife-beater and you despise his kind more than anything else.

“Loki.” As you drawl out his name, coated in a thick Brooklyn accent, you can see Fury’s shoulder tighten at the menacing threat forming the undercurrent of your friendly warning.

“You are hereby no longer responsible for trafficking drugs. From now on your only concern is your girls and I want nothing to do with that. Your job is done,” you conclude firmly, running a hand through your Y/H/C locks and dismissing the subject at once.

“You’re firing me?,” he throws back at you in a frenzy, clearly outraged by your statement as he lunches for you and wraps his slender fingers around your throat. If Fury hadn’t stepped in, the sick bastard would’ve strangled you on the spot and you give him a good kick in the nuts to ensure that he gets the message.

“Get your hands off of her, Loki,” Fury stresses coolly, dusting off his three-piece suit after pushing Loki back into his chair. “You alright, boss?” he then asks you and although your voice is still hoarse in the aftermath of Loki’s attack, you manage to murmur a quick affirmation.

Fury turns his body away from you and you know what’s coming, having seen that predatory look in your father’s eyes many times before, especially when his disciples have been reluctant to follow orders, just like Loki. Fury’s fists beat and bruise his carefully sculpted face and as his piercing screams penetrating your ears, you call Fury off and hand him a handkerchief to get the blood off of his knuckles.

“I didn’t do it! I had nothing to do with the death of that rat of yours!,” he pants, wiping the dark liquid off his lips with the back of his hand.

You squint your eyes at the fuming individual on your right, deciding against sanctioning him for his outburst when you lift your finger at him to silence him and he does so right away. He might be a sleazy son of a bitch but at least he has learnt his lesson.

“You see, that’s your problem Loki, I just don’t believe you.”

“If I may be so blunt, boss,” Fury interjects, his humble persona slightly throwing you off. Usually this man radiates power to the fullest, the eye cap only adding more authority to his otherwise impressive character and downright intimidating posture. But right now it looks like he’s fully at your service, this knowledge raising your awareness instantly. “My men can vouch for Loki. They spotted him at one of his strip clubs.”

Fury has two faces, your father once told you. He has one for business and one for pleasure yet you’re starting to believe that there might be a third mask hiding underneath that stoic exterior, the way he called off Loki with just the wave of a hand. No one but your father has ever had that kind of influence and back in the day, all men would yield to him and only him. You start to wonder if Fury has anything to do with his unfortunate demise but then again, he had nothing to gain from your old man’s death, or so you presume. It is something you will have to look into later.

“Very well,” you say dryly, motioning towards the door. “You are excused.”

Fury is the first one to stand up and make his exit, saluting you as he does so. At least the man respects your new position and did not try to fight it. Nevertheless you cannot trust him, even though your father did. But you are not your father. You might be a mistress, a mother and a wife but most of all, you are the queen of the NY mob scene.

“If I may give you a hint, boss,” Loki spits out with obvious dismay, glancing one last time in Fury’s direction to make sure he’s out of earshot. “You should take a look into Stark’s finances. A day after the shooting, that fucker was seen at the edge of town by one of my associates, pocketing a rather generous amount of green bills. As if the man isn’t rich enough already,” he scoffs before stalking out of the door and slamming it behind him, leaving you wondering what the hell he meant by that.

His tongue laps at your clit, two finger pumping ferociously into your soaked cunt as his dark scruff tickles your inner thigs. It’s been a while since you had someone eat you out and damn, it has been way too long. Your hands tangle in his tousled locks, edging him closer as your hips jolt forward causing him to bury his fingers knuckle deep in your aching pussy, giving you the friction you so crave for.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” you whimper as he curls his digits, caressing your inner walls and hitting that sweet spot repeatedly. Your juices are trickling down your legs, dripping straight into his eager mouth. He’s drinking you all in, taking everything you have to offer.

“Y/N, I need to be inside of you, now,” he releases a low growl, his words reverberating in your core and sending another wave of pleasure crashing into you.

“But I’m so close,” you whine at the loss of contact. Soon enough his hands help you slide off his desk, feet planted firmly on the floor before his hands draw you in for a filthy kiss.

“You taste so good, baby,” he groans, “I wanna taste more of you soon. But first,” he teases with a sly smile, “Gotta get your ass up in the air, love.”

You meet the suave ministrations of his twitching cock by arching your back and wiggling your ass, more than ready to welcome him into your warmth. He teases his shaft against your pussy, his legs settled on either side of your hips, hands roaming your body and lips caressing your pulse before pushing you down hard and flat onto the wooden surface. When he ordered you to turn around, you instantly knew you were in for a treat and when your wet folds finally accept all of him, he sinks back into you with a jolt of pleasure and a throaty moan at how deep he’s sheathed inside of you.

“That feels so fucking great, Y/N,” his gruff voice tears through the smell of sex gathering around you, staining the atmosphere with the sounds of skin slapping against skin.

You came to his office to gloat, to show off your latest endeavour after Bucky had just given you the confirmation that Pepper Potts had exhaled her final breath. You asked him to make it a slow death but Bucky’s not as grim a man as your father, so he opted for a bullet to the heart instead. Nevertheless, the result is the same and you put on your favourite red dress embellished with beautiful golden details just for this occasion, to celebrate your victory on yet another cougar out to get your Tony.

“You were right,” he pants heavily, “You are the best I’ll ever have.”

“Come on, don’t slow down on me now,” you encourage, your knuckles slowly turning white by the way you’re forced to hold on to the desk in order not to lose your balance.

You made it very clear to Tony he isn’t allowed to screw anyone else but you, saying “I saved you from another gold digger, pal, you better make it up to me.”

“Well, allow me to show you how grateful I am,” had been his answer, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his pants while yours worked on the buttons of his dress shirt. Once he was fully naked in front of you, he made quick work of your dress, the fabric snugly hugging your curves pooling around your feet as he pounces on you.

Ever since Pietro’s funeral everything went off the rails. Wanda was absolutely shitfaced at the ceremony and you scolded her for having so little respect for her brother. On top of that, not a single soul knew anything about the shooting whatsoever. Even Laufeyson and Fury remained tight-lipped, causing you to decide on inviting them over for dinner. You were going to find out who exactly was responsible so you could punish, no, torture the culprit. If it meant exposing your true identity, then so be it but you weren’t going to rest until justice has been served and every motherfucker had been killed.

You sent Bucky away on some business at the outskirts of New York, mainly to deal with Pepper but also just to get him away from you, and told Steve to go to that convention he had been wanting to attend for a couple weeks now, insisting he’d pursue his dreams of going national, you didn’t want him to give it up just because you weren’t okay.

Tony’s teeth dig into your shoulder and you release a mewl whisper. “Just like that,” he hisses, cussing deeply when your walls clench around his rock-hard cock.

“You close?,” he asks when you cry out, Tony’s dick twitching inside of you. Another throaty groan introduces your release and he follows after you. The pressure of his member lessens until he’s soft again and able to pull out of you without much discomfort. His body remains pressed against yours as his fingers play with your still hardened nipples, his lips sucking a dark mark in the crook of your neck.

“Tony, I told you to not do that,” you threatened, trying to escape his arms encasing you firmly.

His eyebrows shoot up at your remark. “You told me no such thing, darling.” Tony’s tongue licks the red skin and his voice is deeper than usual and much more intense. He sounds ravished.

Releasing you from his hold, you point an accusing finger at him. “Prick. How am I going to explain this?,” you say gesturing towards where he marked you up. “Not to mention the bruises on my hips and thighs.”

“The bruises are sexy, especially when I know they’re mine,” he smirks, catching your eye and you scoff at his pride.

“Textbook narcissism,” you dismiss him. “I’m going to need a long, hot shower to get cleaned up and forget about this with a bottle of wine.”

“Come on,” Tony purrs as he takes a hold of your waist, twirling you back into his embrace. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy yourself, babe.”

“I just wanted to rid myself of some stress, that’s all, wanted to feel good. It had nothing to do with you.”

“You were jealous because you still have feelings for me.” Tony recognises the flash of emotions displayed on your face, lightly pecking your lips before letting go of you and walking towards the mess you two made on his desk. There’s a wet patch marking the spot where he went down on you. “My feelings for you never changed, Y/N, I didn’t love Pepper.”

He places a wad of cash in front of you, at least 10 grant and your brows knit together in a frown at the money. “What’s this for? I’m not a whore! You can’t fuck me and pay me for services rendered,” you spit out, “I don’t want your money, Tony.”

“Buy Steve something nice, maybe it’ll help lessen your guilt,” he retorts with a sly smile. “Oh, and before you go, I think you should know that Wanda’s selling her body again on the streets. My man on the inside tells me she even offered her services to Loki again but she’s damaged goods and he wouldn’t take her back.”

You waited for more but his brown eyes only locked with yours in silence. “I’m going to fucking kill that brat,” you mutter under your breath. “She’ll never learn.”

“Once a whore, always a whore,” he shrugs, “Tell Casey I’ll see her soon.”

Tony kisses you tenderly, his tongue caressing yours in a sweet kiss as his fingers run through your messy hair. Cupping his face, you try to eliminate whatever distance remains between both your bodies because you love how easily he can make you feel like the happiest woman on earth with just his touch, your lips linger on his just a tad longer before pulling away and you leave his place without another word.

Once you step out of the elevator, you are greeted by a waft of strong perfume as the redhead walks up to you, a cautious and suspicious look betraying her true intentions. “You look thoroughly fucked, Y/N. The bedhead gives it all away.”

“What are you doing here, Natasha?,” you inquire dryly, looking down at your freshly painted nails, disappointed to see the tips have already chipped off, probably due to your extracurricular activities with Tony. They’re painted black, the colour of your tarnished soul.

“Buck told me you’d be here,” she tells you and you make a mental note to inform Bucky that it’s none of Natasha’s business where you are when you’re doing what you do best, fuck things up. “If I had known you’d be screwing Tony I wouldn’t have waited this long to come round. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Can’t we do this later, I’m on my way to fetch Wanda, that bitch disobeyed me,” you say matter-of-factly, groaning when she spins around to grab your hand as you try to walk past her.

“No,” she growls, her nails digging into the sensitive skin of your wrist. “Once a cheater, always a cheater, huh?”

“You can hardly call sex with an ex cheating. Now let go of me” you sneer, giving her a pointed look she will understand very well, “Or I am going to make good on my promise.” You yank your arm away from his vice-like grip.

“If my memory serves me well, we’re not so different, Nat, so be careful when you call me a slut or you might find yourself on the other end of my smoking gun,” you warn her before strutting off into the Monday rush hour, your hands reaching into the pocket of your leather jacket, burning around the USB stick you stole from dear Tony.


	6. The white noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some thugs recognise you on the street and you cry about it to Steve. Bucky and Nat meet up to discuss business.

“Can you talk me through it?,” Steve urges, his eyes wide with concern. His arms are like a golden cage, their strength and warmth keeping his little birdie safe from harm.

“I went over to Tony to tell him Casey’s got that school play coming up next week and that I’d appreciate it if he could free his schedule and actually attend. We shared a few drinks and he asked me how I was holding up after Pietro’s… you know… Which is when he told me Wanda was working the streets again. So Bucky and I took one of your rides and headed downtown. It’s far too cold to be picking up men and I was going to offer her a place to stay until she gets back up her feet,” you lie smoothly, your voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “Poor girl hasn’t been in a right set of mind ever since they murdered her brother.”

“Yeah yeah, I heard about that. It’s a real shame.” His eyes are a soft blue but his tone does not speak of sincerity. “What happened next?,” Steve pressures, looking over to where Bucky is smoking a cigarette.

“A couple of thugs spotted the car,” the brunet shrugs back at him, “I mean, a purple Lamborghini? Man, that’s one hell of a flashy car.”

You entangle yourself from Steve’s hold, his hands resting on your shoulders as he takes in your red-rimmed eyes and flustered cheeks. “One of them, he introduced himself to us and said his name was Rumlow,. He instantly recognised me and said that Tony Stark’s whore has no business here, that this neighbourhood belongs to the Brooklyn mob boss and not a cheating slut that sucks some fancy politician’s dick for a living.”

Sniffling quietly, you turn your attention to Bucky, carding his slender fingers through his long locks. He eyes you curiously, wondering what your next move will be, how you’re going to play this game.

“If it wasn’t for Bucky, I don’t know what he would’ve done,” you cry silently, knowing that once you shed some tears Steve will definitely fall for your deception. Little did he know that after Rumlow and his scum tried to scare you, Bucky handed you to gun that finished them all.

“Thanks for protecting her, Buck,” Steve says sincerely, reaching out to shake Bucky’s hand in gratitude.

“Nah, ‘s nothing.” Bucky waves away Steve’s thank you. “You hired me to protect her, I was just doing my job.”

He drops the remainder of his cigarette to the ground, blowing out the leftover smoke and you cough at the uneasy smell tickling your nostrils, making you gag instantly. He was never much of a smoker when you were younger, occasionally smoking some pot when he got too stressed out. This nasty habit he seems to have picked up afterwards and you hate it. You tried to talk to him about it, but Bucky is Bucky and wouldn’t hear it until you threatened to end your little sexcapades. Men are so easily persuaded with sex.

Steve sends Bucky a dirty look, asking him to leave the two of you to it. “See you tomorrow,” Bucky mutters, a little sparkle in his eyes when they land on you. “You have my number.”

When you hear the door close behind him, you pull Steve in by the collar of his shirt, his lips crashing on yours and he gasps at the sudden contact with your cold and chapped lips before his tongue traces you bottom lip begging for permission. “I need you to fuck me, Steve,” you pant against his plump, kiss-swollen lips. “You know, I’ve been a very bad girl today, Stevie.”

“Oh is that so?,” he lifts an eyebrow in mock surprise, his hands steady on your hips.

You bite your lower lip and pout innocently. “Yes, no lie,” you whisper as you look down shyly and shuffle your feet, Steve’s finger lifting your chin up to meet your eyes, his blue orbs disappearing into a supermassive black hole of desire.

“Then I might need to punish you,” he replies sternly, voice surging with electricity.

“No,” you defy his authority, standing a bit taller as you kick off your high heels causing you to drop a few inches. Your boldness throws him off at first before a predatory glint illuminates his dark pupils.

“What did you just say to me?,” he growls lowly as he pushes you back against the wall, his arms on either side of your head and his body pressed flush against yours.

“No,” you repeat, fisting the material of his clothes and pulling him impossibly closer. “I am going to punish you.” This seems to peak his interest and he stares at you, wide-eyed and extremely turned on by the looks of the prominent bulge prodding your inner thigh.

“I am going to punish you because I’m not just your domestic pussy, I am your wife and you’re supposed to be a good husband.” You emphasis these final words with an angry sneer before Steve’s lips silence you, a deep-rooted moan escaping your vocal chords instead.

Resting your hands on his study chest, you slightly detangle yourself from his passionate hold, tugging eagerly at the material of his shirt while working your magic on the button of his pants. A string of curses escapes your lips when you finally manage to pull down his zipper, your hand gently cupping his balls as you take little Stevie out of his restrictions.

“Y/N,” Steve pants when you swirl your thumb around the throbbing tip of his proud cockhead, biting your lip in anticipation. “I want to try for a baby,” he admits gingerly, his baby blues looking you dead in the eye.

“I’m not on the pill anymore,” you answer earnestly, swallowing thickly.

“I know.”

You’re quick to send him a reply, the plan you set in motion not long ago already paying off. “Fuck me up against the wall.”

Your back collides with the wall while Steve’s hands slowly expose more and more skin until the fabric of your dress pools around your waist and your innocent, white thong is on full display. “My pleasure,” he groans and you gasp when his teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your neck, his tongue darting out to soothe the angry red marks he left in his wake with tender kitten licks.

BUCKY’S POV

I listen how the door falls back into the lock, all kinds of thoughts coming to mind. The way she cries into his chest is sickening, it would’ve even fooled me. It’s safe to say those ridiculously expensive acting classes her dad sent her to were useful after all. Popping one of Sam’s uppers in my mouth, I get into my car and dial Natasha’s number.

“Hey handsome,” she greets me and I have to suppress the urge to roll my eyes at her teasing tone, even though there’s no one around to see it.

“Nat. I’m on my way from the Rogers’ mansion. Be there in five.”

I cut off the call before she’s got the time to say anything else. Her voice is too sickly sweet to stomach without at least one drop of alcohol in my system, too sober for any shit-talking at the moment, especially after witnessing that fine performance Y/N came up with. I really had to bite my tongue and refrain myself from telling Steve what his lovely wifey is up to during his office hours. But I promised Y/N that I wouldn’t and damn it, I love her too much to violate her trust in me. Even though she’d never finish me off like the little cheat I am, trying out the entire fucking Kamasutra with a married woman, I’d still be in some deep shit and I don’t want to lose her again.

And then there’s still the issue with Steve. How the fuck is he going to resolve that problem without stepping on any highly sensitive toes?

Natasha’s place is a short drive into town, a fancy loft she bought with the insurance money she got after that whole ordeal with Bruce. How I know this? Y/N told me on our first night together, when she showed me her soul and I showed her mine in return. God, I can barely wrap my mind around it, the way she’s my breath of life. There’s no Bucky without Y/N.

I’d kill and I’d die for her, I’d do anything for Y/N and her little girl if it meant I could just be with her, or at least be around her for the time being. I just need a good excuse to get rid of that obnoxious husband of her. Agreed, he’s a good-looking fella and a fine chap to hang out with, but I care more about my love for Y/N to further entertain a friendship with Steve. Too bad, maybe in an alternate universe we could’ve been best friends, a universe where I was married to her and not him.

As I park the car just outside Nat’s doorstep, she opens her front door and shoots me a naughty smile once her eyes land on me. She beckons me inside and pushes a glass of scotch in my hands before I make myself comfortable on her couch. Natasha’s interior decorator sure has an affinity with black and white, the whole area seems to have taken over by a monochrome entity, not a spot of colour to be detected, at least not by the naked eye. It’s a whole lot different from Y/N’s house where there are paintings adorning every available surface, giving her residence some charm and some life of its own. But this place? This is just way too clean it gives me the chills.

“So…,” I draw out the ‘o’ to gain her attention which she reluctantly provides me with. That woman is far too whimsical for my taste, one moment she makes hell freeze over and the next she’s hanging on my every word like I’m Jesus Christ in the flesh. “Did you manage to tell her? Was she there, at Tony’s?”

“Yeah, I saw her alright. Bumped right into her in the lobby.” Nat empties her glass in one take. It contained a clear liquid that must’ve been Russian vodka. Boy, with the way that woman can drink I’m surprised she still has a functioning liver.

“I didn’t tell her though. She was preoccupied.” Nat chuckles to herself, remaining very mysterious about Y/N’s intentions for visiting Tony out of the blue. But he doesn’t need to know, he’d rather not know if it meant Tony blowing his brains out. “Y/N said something about Wanda disobeying her, you got any idea what that’s all about?”

“Hmm, yeah, we went to pick that girl up as soon as Y/N came home. Don’t know what she did to get Y/N to see red, but I can make an educated guess. By the way she looked and behaved herself, it seemed that she was selling herself again while Y/N specifically forbade her to do so. The bitch punched me in the face when I tried to drag her to the car,” I groan, pointing at my split lip. “I though Y/N had a mean hook but Wanda sure knows her shit as well.”

“What are we going to do about it? She has to know but after our messy discussion yesterday, I don’t think she wants to hear what I have to say anymore.”

She doesn’t tell him why but he suspects it’s got something to do with Tony again, although he doesn’t ask about it either. Like he said before, what he doesn’t know can’t come back to bite him in the ass. “You do agree that she needs to know?,” he queries, bringing his glass to his lips before adding “Tony and Steve can’t just go behind her back like that.”

Jack Daniels, his favourite. He recognises it as soon as the first drop makes contact with his thirsty tongue. Nat has some good taste. “Even if we don’t know who shot Pietro, she at least has to know the reason why.”

She stares at me with empty eyes, a lazy grin curling the corners of her lips upwards. It’s disturbing how much this woman seems to know, so I take my chances. “Natasha, how long exactly have you known about Peggy?”

She seems taken aback by my question, not expecting me to know about that. After all, it happened long before I came back to town. Nat’s reluctant to answer but does so anyway. “About a year,” she mumbles, hiding her discomfort away behind her glass.

I shake my head in disappointment. “And you kept silent all this time?” There’s an accusatory tone to my voice that wasn’t there before and she huffs at me, the soft rustle of her tight, velvet dress drawing my attention to her as she gets up from the couch and moves towards the bookcase at the other end of the room. Nat pulls out a little black book hidden between an urban dictionary and a hardcopy of the Millennium trilogy, handing it over to me with a smug look in her cold eyes.

“Pietro gave this to me for safekeeping, in case something was to happen to Y/N. Precautions, you know. It contains quite a few gruesome details, not to mention some of those names are respectable members of high society,” she explains as I flip through the pages, amazed at how much incriminating information these pages hold.

“Look, I owe Y/N a lot. She saved me from Bruce as much as she saved me from myself. Now it’s time for me to return the favour and protect her from herself. What do you think she’ll do after she finds out Steve had a hand in Peggy’s untimely death?”

“She’ll probably go mad.”

A laugh escapes her. “She will most definitely go mad and we don’t need a mad mob boss on our hands, now do we Buck?,” she scolds. “We’re already living in purgatory, no need to turn it into a fucking hellhole. I’m already living on borrowed time.”

“You’re already living on borrowed time? What the fuck does that even mean?”

“It means I’ve lost Y/N a long time ago, she just hasn’t realised it yet.”

“Then what is in it for you? What do you have to gain from telling her about Tony and Steve’s covert arrangement?”

“Look,” Natasha reprimands me, her tongue flicking out to wet her bottom lip. “Either she kicks Steve out after she finds out about his dirty little secret or she stays put. If she hasn’t freaked out by then, things can go two ways once we drop that bomb about the whole Peggy ordeal. If she believes it to be the most grand romantic gesture of the century, she’ll stick with the guy like glue. But maybe, just maybe, she’ll reach for the nearest gun and fuck up his sorry ass. In both cases I win because Y/N stays alive, whereas you only win if she kills the poor fucker.”

Her voice wavers the tiniest bit and for a moment I feel for her, the Russian doll with a million mysteries hidden underneath that stoic exterior. People often tend to mistake her for just another booty call, mostly because she refuses to show to the world how much she actually cares. But Natasha Romanova isn’t just every man’s wet dream, she’s the woman that freed Y/N from her lunatic mother and I am grateful for that.

“No matter what, you’ve already won because you have nothing left to lose. You don’t care about your life but you do care about hers. I must say I admire your devotion, Natasha. Who would’ve thought such a stone cold bitch like yourself would have a heart after all?”

“So are you going to tell her about Steve and Tony first, see how she takes the news and then we’ll decide what to do next?,” Nat shoots back, sloshing almost half a bottle of vodka into a large wine glass. She’s going to have a killer hangover if she’s finished with that.

“Yes. But you’re forgetting one tiny detail, I can’t be the one to drop the bomb, she will think I’m just saying it to break her and Steve up,” I reply dryly.

“Well, isn’t that exactly what you’re trying to do?”

“She doesn’t need to know that,” I sneer, emptying my glass in one take and setting it down on the table in front of me, signalling her I’m about to take my leave.

“Sam. He’s the best one to do it. He’s our Switzerland in all of this,” Nat tells me as she turns the key in the lock, revealing the bustling streets behind it. “If there’s anyone who can get away with saying anything to her, it’s Sam. Y/N and I, we might know each other the longest but Sam knows her the best.”

I take out a cigarette and light it, the rush of nicotine surrounding me like a hazy cloud. “I’ll give him a heads up,” I promise.

“Bye Bucky,” she coos after me with a small wave of her hand. “And good luck.”

I give her a tight-lipped smile by means of goodbye, no need to lead the bitch on, before immersing myself in the traffic straight towards Sam’s bar.


	7. The waiting game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Bucky’s birthday and you surprise him. Inspired by “Waiting Game”, Banks.

“She’s been taken care of, boss,” Clint says at the other end of the phone. I sigh and throw a quick peek at Bucky’s direction where he’s running on the track, a sweat-slicked white t-shirt emphasising his sculpted muscles and well-defined abdomen. It sticks to his skin like glue and I wish I could just walk over to him and lick the salt off his skin. After our one night of sin, my feelings for this man are stronger than ever and if I don’t keep them on a tight leash, I am going to lose everything.

“Good. Did she suffer?” I sound eerily matter-of-factly but Clint does not give it any thought, resuming to business as usual.

“I asked her if she had any last wishes. She said I just had to bite the bullet and get it over with. Morbid sense of humour that girl.” Clint chuckles and after another heartbeat the line goes dead. Looking down at my phone, I see the battery has died and curse internally.

“Hey babe, what are you doin’ here?,” asks a familiar voice, a seductive tone to the Brooklyn accent dripping from his words like a bittersweet dream.

As soon as my eyes lock with his, I feel the knot in my stomach tighten, begging me for release as every single drop of arousal pools between my legs, soaking my panties in the blink of an eye and all it took was just Bucky.

“I’m just looking for my lover,” you smile sweetly. “Happy birthday, Bucky.”

“You remembered?,” he asks both bewildered and flattered. He looks like a school boy, with a rosy blush flustering his cheeks and a boyish grin illuminating his features.

You feign being hurt and offended by his insinuation. “Of course, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn’t remember my boyfriend’s birthday?” But where there was first a sign of endearment in his eyes, it has now been replaced by a hard scowl.

“I am not your boyfriend, Y/N,” Bucky huffs at you. “You are Steve Rogers’ wife and Tony Stark’s ex-wife, but you ain’t my girlfriend. If you were in fact my girlfriend, I would be able to parade you down the street, my arm slung casually over your shoulder and a proud smirk on my fucking face. But I can’t do that, now can I?,” Bucky lashes out at you, an unseen anger bubbling underneath his confident bad boy exterior.

You don’t know what to say to him. Unbeknownst to you, Bucky has been holding back his feelings of indignation for a very long time. He loves you and he is darn sure you love him but he can’t stay in the shadows for much longer.

“I’m sorry Buck, I really am. I wish things were…”

“Different?,” he interjects with a sad half-smile. “Me, too, doll. Me too.”

“I wish I would’ve never met Tony because then I would also never have met Steve. I wish that my Dad would’ve seen past his own egocentric beliefs. I wish I could make it all undone. I wish Casey was yours and I wish you were mine.”

“Be careful, doll,” Bucky shushes as his pointer finger softly caresses his plump lips. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

His eyes are stern but his body language tells me otherwise, a prominent bulge in his track pants giving more than enough information on his current state of mind. He’s been giving it just as much thought as you have, but you can’t dwell on the past for too long before it corrupts your future.

“What?,” I contest with my head held high, the Manhattan pride speaking with my tongue. “There’s no one here, Buck.”

“You never know. The streets have been busy lately, ever since the police found that body in the river.”

I had almost forgotten about the gruesome discovery the police did last night when a body came floating to the surface and some secrets better left buried were dug up as well. “I had nothing to do with that,” you say curtly, dismissing the subject at once.

It still doesn’t sit well with Bucky and he doesn’t want to push or pry either, but it’s been at the back of his mind for a long time now. “I know about Jess,” he utters in a husky voice, low enough for only your ears to pick up on his words.

Your head snaps in his direction, a rigid glare daring his piercing blue eyes to meet yours in total honesty. “Who the fuck told you?”

“After that whole situation with Pietro, Sam got really fidgety. One night his delivery guy, Thor, came in and he offered him a very pricey bottle of liquor for free but you know, in this life nothing’s for free,” Bucky shrugs casually whilst shimmying out of his shirt and throwing it over his shoulder, exposing his drool-worthy pectorals as, to your great amusement, he flexes them to keep his muscles from going sore.

“So Sam asked the guy what he wanted from him and he simply said he wished to speak to the boss about the disappearance of two of Loki’s strippers because apparently Loki is his half-brother or something, I don’t know.” Bucky cards his fingers through his chestnut hair. “Point is, Jess knew about Sharon’s disappearance and since she was fucking Loki, he knew about it too.”

So if Jess was screwing Loki, he probably pulled some strings to get her the job at Sam’s bar. Was she working as his spy the whole time? You deemed it impossible because she was only there for two weeks but then again, Wanda’s been working for you for exactly that long as well. She doesn’t report back to you on a daily basis but when she does, she’s thorough and precise, giving you detailed descriptions of everything you need to know that goes on at the Cuckoo’s Nest.

You’re not surprised to learn that every single time Bucky visits Sam’s bar, basically every woman that lays her eyes on Bucky tries to make a pass at him but you’re also really relieved and maybe a bit privileged that he turns down every single one of them, earning a few curious looks from Sam but he never questions Bucky about his motives, just lets him do his thing. That’s the way it’s always been between Sam and Bucky, a bit of playful banter but never anything big.

“That bitch,” you hiss between clenched teeth. “I wonder where she got the information from.”

“It could’ve been Natasha but she didn’t like Jess either, so I don’t think she ran her mouth on Sharon. Maybe Sam’s ears picked up on it? Or what about your handyman, Clint?”

“How do I know it wasn’t you?”

“Love,” Bucky sighs as he leans in closer to kiss the crown of your hair seeing the puzzled look in your eyes growing steadier.

He cradles your face in his hands and throws a quick look over his shoulder to check if you’re still completely alone at the tracks. When there’s not a single soul to be detected, he returns his attention and affection towards you. The kiss isn’t all tongues at teeth, at first it was but after you give up your pursuit for dominance, Bucky’s ministrations become more gently, more softly moving his lips against yours. It’s as if your instinctively imprinted on Bucky because every fibre screams for him.

“I can assure you it wasn’t me,” he promises in an earnest tone. “At this point, it could’ve been anyone,” he sighs against your lips when you break away.

“Clint’s not it either and I trust Natasha to remain tight-lipped,” I conclude before getting up, straightening my dress and taking his hand in mine before moving away from the tracks and towards the car.

Bucky almost stumbles over his feet by the force I’m dragging him along with me yet his eyes never leave my form, trained on my generous backside. He’s a guy after all. “I need to fuck right now and you deserve some birthday sex, big boy,” I explain to him and he simply smiles down at me with that ridiculously attractive lopsided grin.

“Sounds good to me,” he chuckles softly.

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “You okay with me just using you for sex like this?”

“You’re not using me for sex, Y/N. You love me and I love you. Sex is just our way of expressing that love for one another in a fun way. So no, I don’t mind at all.”

Even though you don’t like to admit it to yourself, the sex with Bucky is different and it has been different for a while now. Even now, when you’re sucking him off in the backseat of Steve’s favourite ride, he’s reluctant to completely let loose. His hands have a vice-like grip on the leather seats, hips bucking into your mouth in delight and with fervour. His grunts fill the atmosphere drenched in the scent of sex, his long hair sticking to his forehead as his arousal grows.

“Easy, doll, you’re so eager,” he pants as your lips circle the angry red tip of his cock before taking him all in at once.

Relaxing your throat, you bob you head up and down at a dedicated speed, determined to get him off at least once before riding him like you usually do. Swallowing around him not one, but twice certainly does the trick and as your fingers tease his balls with featherlight touches, Bucky’s in seventh heaven faster and higher than he’s ever been before.

Normally he’s the attentive lover, never too tired to go again or afraid to try something else for a change. When you need him to be rough, he’ll pound into your with reckless abandon. If you want him to ruin you completely, he’ll deny you the entire night and let you experience the most wrecking orgasm of all in the faint glow of the early morning light.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he grunts lowly as he comes into your mouth, his hot cum spurting past your lips and trickling down your bare chest, your lacy underwear long discarded. “Fuck fuck fuck, I fucking love you, baby doll.”

And then there are still the moments where he is the Bucky you’ve known your entire life, the sensitive boy with the enviable lips and the mischievous touch. The man that will eat you out like he’s been starving for your juices his entire life. The man that will take care of you with his fingers and his mouth without even complaining once. He’s also the man that will make love to you at any given moment because if there’s one thing that will ever exceed the mind-blowing sensation of a good and decent fucking, it’s Bucky Barnes making love to you.

His fingers tangle in your hair, gripping the roots tightly and pulling you off of him. You release his dick with an obscene pop, licking your lips at his salty flavour. Bucky hooks his hands underneath your legs and brings you upwards to his chest until you’re straddling him. Since you’re not wearing your thong anymore, you can easily dance your coated folds across his hardening length, extracting a strangled moan from your intoxicated paramour.

“Just get on with it,” Bucky grumbles before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

Repositioning yourself until you find a comfortable position that works for the both of you, you lower yourself onto his penis and whimper softly at the slightly burning sensation tingling your cunt. Soon the car is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your hands digging into Bucky’s shoulders as your vagina milks his second orgasm from him. You follow not soon after and collapse on top of him, Bucky’s lips tracing your jawline and settling for that sweet spot in the crook of your neck, sucking a small bruise.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whisper to him as your fingers move away the mess of hair in front of your eyes. He looks down at you, fondly and lovingly, buzzing with post-coital bliss as his fingers drawing nonsense pattern onto the soft flesh of your bum. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he replies hoarsely before cracking up at the sound of his thoroughly fucked voice. You really did a number on him.


	8. The heathens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey can’t sleep so you tell her a story. Steve turns out to be much more of a bad boy than you initially anticipated. Inspired by “Gangsta“ by Kehlani.

It’s 2 a.m. in the morning and I’m contemplating life.

Well, I’m not exactly contemplating my life but more like the mob life in general. After my doctor’s appointment in, let’s say, 6 maybe 7 hours from now, fate will either have screwed me over or given me the greatest gift of all. But what do I have to offer this tiny human being apart from a very fucked up family and even more fucked up friends?

Natasha is an alcoholic and Clint gets off on blood and gore. Sam is a frequent visitor of Fury’s casino’s and an avid gambler, although I’m fairly sure that sooner rather than later he’ll choke on one of his precious peanuts first. As for Wanda, well, who knows what that little bitch is hooked on? Fortune cookies maybe?

What can I say, all my friends are heathens.

The baby’s two potential fathers aren’t much better either. Bucky’s practically a chimney with the way he’s been smoking cigarettes by the dozen these past couple days and Steve’s hunger for power will one day come back to bite him in the ass. My only hope is that my child won’t be a sex addict like her mother, that would bring me at least some small relief.

And God knows what’s on that flash drive I stole from Tony the other week. Every time I think about what I had to do in order to get my hands on it, cold shivers start to run up and down my spine. I swore I would never let that man lay a hand on me again and I broke my oath to myself. He’s neither a good nor a bad person yet all the skeletons I might find when I pay Scott a visit tomorrow might be too much for me to bear. I’m afraid of what I might find.

But I’m even more afraid of the consequences of what I did to obtain this information.

Scott’s a professional Dad but spends his free time playing the role of an ethical hacker. Even though I don’t know Scott that well, he has done some favours for me in the past and I greatly appreciate his help. He also knows that once he dares jeopardize our friendship, he will no longer have enough money to take care of himself, let alone his daughter. He says he found some interesting, highly encrypted files that I might find useful although he wouldn’t disclose anything else and sounded quite hesitant when I confronted him about it. Even so, he is willing to share them with me for a fair price and I also agreed to pay him a bit extra in exchange for his silence.

“Mommy?” A child’s voice disrupts my train of thoughts and I shoot up in my bed, quickly looking over to the other side of the bed to check if I didn’t wake up Steve but he’s still sound asleep, snoring a little and adorably scrunching his nose.

“Yes, Casey? Is everything alright?” My little girl is standing in the doorway, holding her teddy close to her chest and wiggling her feet, big brown eyes peering at me through the dim lighting of the moon.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and walk over to her, picking Casey up in my arms and nuzzling my nose in the nape of her neck which makes her giggle just a little. “Did you have another bad dream, honey?”

She doesn’t say anything, just rests her cheek on my shoulder while I carry her downstairs, careful not to make too much noise and startle Steve. I sit her down on the kitchen counter, leaning my forehead against hers as I cup her tiny face in my hands, my thumbs tracing the dimples in her soft cheeks as she laughs.

“Mommy that tickles!,” she titters and I ask her if she’d like me to make her some hot coco. She eagerly nods and as I gather all the ingredients, she tells me about her bad dream. It’s nothing too scary but she’s a little shaken up nonetheless.

“You want to hear a story?,” I propose and she cheers, waving her hands in the air and reaching out for the cup of chocolate milk. “Careful, little bug, it’s hot.”

Sitting down next to her on the kitchen counter, nursing my own mug of the sweet liquid, I begin to tell her the story of how her mommy and daddy met, experience reminding me it’s most likely the only story she’ll want to hear. “When mommy was younger, she was very in love with a boy called James. But you see, your grandfather didn’t like James so he scared him away and made mommy really sad.”

She makes a disappointed sound as tears well up in her eyes. “Mommy don’t be sad,” she pouts and I pull her in for a hug, kissing the crown of her head and murmuring a reassuring “As long as you’re here, little bug, mommy will never be sad.”

After a minute or so I release her, resuming my story. “Then mommy met daddy who was one of your grandfather’s friends. You see, your daddy had been in love with your mommy for a very long time. But he never said anything because mommy is much younger than daddy and daddy was afraid your grandfather would disapprove. He was the only one who saw how unhappy mommy was and he tried to make it better.”

“Did he kiss it better just like you do with all my booboos?,” she asks innocently, eyes wide in eagerness and batting her thick eyelashes at me.

I chuckle softly. “Yes he did. Then mommy fell in love with your daddy too and we were very happy. And just when we thought life couldn’t get any better, we had you.” Casey’s eyes are twinkling with curiosity. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve already told her the story, she always seems to enjoy it more and more.

Nevertheless, there’s a downside to this story, one Casey knows all too well. “But daddy has a very busy job and with daddy work always came first, making mommy very sad again.”

Puckering, her little hands squeeze yours. “Is that why you met Steve? Tell me, mommy, I want to know,” she quips with her adorable childlike enthusiasm.

“You remember Sam’s bar, the Cuckoo’s Nest?” Casey shakes her head yes. “Well, mommy used to be a singer there too when she was younger and that’s how she met Steve. One night he came to see me sing and he paid mommy a big compliment.”

“I told her she had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”

Unbeknownst to you, Steve had woken up shortly after you and Casey went downstairs. He wondered where you had gone and went to take a peek in Casey’s room when he heard your voice. Tiptoeing down the stairs, he remained hidden in the dark shadow of the staircase, eavesdropping on the two of you to see what you were discussing in the middle of the night.

He didn’t like hearing how much you used to love Bucky. The only reason he ever employed the guy is because it’s the only way he could ever keep an eye on him. Steve knows Bucky and his wife are too close for comfort, but there’s nothing he can do about it as long as Tony’s still in the picture. He promised himself that he would get rid of that fucker first before messing with Y/N’s boy toy. However, that doesn’t mean he’s just going to stand idly by when you reminiscence about your lovers Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark. So when you reached the subject of how your first meeting, he decided to intervene.

“You see, I had heard many great stories about your mommy’s voice, but I still wanted to hear it for myself. One night I let the people who were working on my campaign at the time off work early and found myself taking a detour to Sam’s bar. It’s been a while since I had seen him and I wanted to catch up. I didn’t know your mother was going to sing there that evening, but I hoped she would.”

Your little girl is absolutely infatuated with Steve and it awakens a small sting of envy and concern in your chest. It’s understandable that Casey is the apple of Tony’s eye, but the prospect that Steve might be equally besotted with your daughter is something you have never given too much thought. Until now.

“So when Sam noticed just how much Y/N had me under her spell, he asked me if I wanted to meet her in person. Of course I said yes and we spent the entire night talking. Sam even had to kick us out in the end,” Steve says coming to stand behind to you, lacing his arms around your waist and pecking your cheek before resting his chin on the top of your head.

You allow yourself to lean into his broad frame, the comfortable and familiar warmth of his body making you feel at home. A house is not a home until you have someone to come home to, your nanny always used to say. Yet you’re fairly sure your nanny would’ve disagreed with that someone being Steve. She never liked Bucky either and only knew Tony for a brief period of time before she passed away, but she valued her principles more than anything else and if she were still alive, she would’ve smacked you in the face for sleeping with a married man.

Casey holds her hand in front of her mouth, stifling a yawn. “Is my little bug tired?,” Steve coos sweetly and she answers his question with a beaming yet lazy smile, her eyes already falling shut.

“I’ll take her to her room and tuck her in,” Steve suggests, kissing you lightly on the lips before cradling Casey in his arms and carrying her sleepy form upstairs.

You finish your hot coco and follow suit, sliding underneath the duvet and listening to the sounds coming from the room next to the master bedroom. You can make out Steve’s affectionate voice and Casey’s exhausted sniggers, hearing how he promises her to take her out for ice-cream the next day if she has a good night sleep.

A minute or so later, the door to your bedroom creaks open and Steve joins you in the bed. Lazily throwing his arm around you, he rolls you on top of him until your body is draped over his in a warm unison. Your right hand rests on his heart and you can feel the steady beat pulsate underneath your touch. Looking up into Steve’s eyes you catch him smiling down at you.

“You and your daughter,” he whispers tenderly, “Are my girls. I will do whatever is necessary to keep my girls safe.”

“Steve…,” you begin but the soft press of his lips against your forehead silences you.

“I wasn’t finished,” he says gently. “What I’m trying to say is, we have a family here and you never let your family down. I don’t intend to go anywhere, Y/N. Whatever happens, I’ll stick by your side. Whatever decision you make, I’ll wholeheartedly accept it.” By now his voice is slightly breaking. “And I am so sorry for treating you the way I did. I was drunk and I was horny. I love you, Y/N. I love Casey, too. Will you please forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my dear,” you sigh, your lips automatically drawn to his when his pleading eyes shine in perplexity at your words.

The kiss slowly comes to a start, hesitation reigning in both your hearts. Steve’s dirty blond tresses are so delicate underneath your fingertips, your hands weaving nonsense patterns into his hair as his mouth gives you open access. Now sliding entirely on top of Steve’s muscular body, he is able to pull you both upwards in one swift motion, tucking your legs around his thighs as you are able to straddle him now.

Your tongue skims his bottom lip, asking for permission to deepen this kiss. It’s then that Steve’s lips move away from yours and you search his eyes for the reason why. “I knew Peggy was wrong about you,” he murmurs into your ear, his teeth nibbling onto your earlobe, lips capturing it into his mouth.

Almost too far gone to properly register what Steve has just said, you swallow a hoarse moan spilling from your lips. One hand gripping his hair tightly, you pull him away from your neck where he is attempting to suck a dark bruise onto the fragile skin of your sweet spot. “Say that again?,” you demand adamantly, tugging at his blond locks so his eyes cannot escape yours.

“I knew Peggy was wrong about you. She was sure you were just a piece of ass to me, sure I would never come running back to you. Peggy was convinced you simply enjoyed taking my cock because no one else would pay any attention to you. But you don’t have to worry about Peggy, sweetheart,” he purrs modestly, brushing some stray curls from your eyes. “She’s dead. She can’t keep us apart anymore.”

“I know, Stevie, I know,” you release in a deep sigh. “Peggy is dead and I am about to fuck her widower. Strange how life works out in the end, isn’t it?” A small smirk appears which Steve takes as a sign to continue his worshipping.

He resumes devoting his body to you, teeth tugging at your bottom lip and hands hiking up your night gown. You do not resist as he removes it from you or when his lips suckle on your nipple whilst the fingertips of his free hand pinch the other. You completely let go and throw you head back as his hands cup your sex, alerting you he’s ready for more.

Allowing him to take control, your hands trail down his chiselled abdomen to the hem of his t-shirt as you help him take it off. Sitting back on your calves, Steve is able to shimmy out of his boxer briefs, revealing his rock hard cock. He’s already dripping precum and you lower your head, tying your hair back with one hand so the other can play with his balls while you lick a broad strip from the base of his shaft to the very tip.

“Y/N, I need to be inside of you. N-N-No time for foreplay, hun.”

His voice is strained and you take it as a good sign. “Don’t be vanilla, Stevie” you coo as you hover over his crotch, lining yourself up with his beautifully thick shaft. “Do to me what you could never do with Peggy.”

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. You can clearly observe the shift in demeanour as the light green specks drowning in his cerulean blue irises visibly light up. “Then get on all fours, baby,” he orders in a domineering tone. “Let your daddy fuck you hard.”

His dick pumps in and out of you at a bruising pace, his fingers digging into the cheeks of your ass as he holds them apart, allowing him a perfect view of his well-endowed manhood ruining your tight cunt. Trying your best to stifle your moans so Casey doesn’t hear what her mommy and Steve are up to this early in the morning, the pillows offers a most welcome distraction.

Steve’s teeth attack your shoulder as he lunges his torso onto your back, lips trailing down your spine in a low growl. He’s close and by the way your pussy is clenching his throbbing penis, you’re on the very brink of your orgasm as well. One hand leaves your soft bottom to play with your clit, his calloused fingertips relentlessly flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves as you bite down hard on your bottom lip, almost drawing blood at the overstimulation of your senses.

Just as you’re about to cum hard on his cock, Steve yanks you by your (Y/H/C) swirls and pulls your back flush against his chest. His left hand remains locked in place on your hip, the other lacing around your throat, turning your head away from him so your neck is exposed to the mercy of his teeth. He soothes the mark immediately after but this moment of tenderness does not last long as the hand that was around your throat, dances lower towards your entrance.

Without much further ado, Steve adds two extra fingers, dipping into you with such force and ferocity the pleasure is overwhelming. He’s testing you, stretching you out to see how much you can take before plummeting into an abysmal state of bliss. Groaning into your ear, Steve whispers an “I love you” knowing it will most likely deliver you the release you have been milking out of him.

Slapping your behind harshly, Steve’s hand on your lower back pushes drives you into the mattress. “Turn around, Y/N. You’ve indulged me, so let me pleasure you now.”

Your arousal quickly gains the upper hand and you roll over onto your back, legs still widely spread and crooking a finger to call Steve over. Kinking an eyebrow in suggestion and seduction, you watch as his hands work his still half-hard cock before lining up at your entrance again. Since all three men you’ve ever laid down with are delectably large, you have no issue taking him in one go, your juices in the aftermath of your first orgasm serving as enough lubricant for the second go.

This time the sex is more intimate. It’s not making love, for that Steve’s too hard on you, but it’s a proper fucking you thoroughly enjoy. Your legs are hooked around his slim waist, one of his hands teasing your breast as the other drawing nonsense pattern underneath your jaw. When you kiss, you do not tangle your fingertips in his hair, rather opting to rake them down his sculpted back and leave a visible red mark. 

“Go faster, Steve. Don’t hold back on me now,” you encourage breathlessly.

You want him to remember this night just as much as you wanted him to remember the night he forcefully took you without your immediate permission. You want him to commit to memory how good it feels to fuck your woman when you have her consent.

Gasping when he hits your g-spot, you’re about to see stars. “I can be an obedient girl. I can be everything you want me to be,” you heave out in bits and pieces, struggling to form a coherent sentence. Another moan is ripped from your throat as he knocks his pelvis against yours, grunting ferally in approval. “I can be your wife, your mistress and your baby girl. I can even be your whore for fuck’s sake.”

“I don’t need a whore,” he pants into the crook of your neck. “I’m banging the fucking Brooklyn mob boss, why would I ever need a freaking whore.”

Crying out when another wave of cloud nine hits you, your coital haze blurs your line of vision so you can’t see his pearly whites scraping along your cheeks. Feeling his nose caress yours, you peck his lips in a chaste kiss, mainly because you’re unable to do anything else but focus on how he’s pounding into you still.

And then it hits you. “You bastard!,” you exhale loudly over the sound of both of you grunting and grinding in perfect synchronicity, your body remembering every ridge and every valley of Steve’s body. “You knew the whole time!”

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, his hips jolting forward with a renewed power, laughing darkly at your indignation. Tearing your lips away from his, your fists connect with his firm chest, his thrust faltering just the slightest in anticipation of his orgasm. You continue to punch him but your determination is no match for his strength and he easily pins your hands above your head, a devious grin curling his lips upwards.

“Of course I did, darling,” he chuckles cunningly. Steve’s pupils are lust-blown, the deep black rims have completely absorbed the natural oceanic blue. He leans in closer, sharply snapping his hips and you cry out in ecstasy. “Peggy’s dead and you have me to thank for it.”

His head drops in between the valley of your breasts and you love the soft scratch of his day-old stubble more than you should at this point. Coming undone for the third time that night, Steve tumbles down into the rapture with you. Huffing heavily with the exertion, Steve’s weight settles into your body, the thick vein of his penis still pulsating inside of you.

“That was so good, baby. Please don’t be mad, I did it for us.”

“Get the fuck off me, Rogers,” you grit your teeth. He does as you command, moving over to his side of the bed again, his arm still resting on your bare stomach. The soothing tenor of his laugh is a mixture of recognition and endearment, the bile rising in your throat as your heart still skips a beat at the signature sound.

You sit upright in the bed, prying his arm away from you but Steve doesn’t give up so easily. Suddenly gripping your wrist, he prevents you from leaving the bed. “Y/N, for crying out loud, will you fucking listen to me?”

Snagging your hand away from him when his grasp on you wavers, you bundle the sheets around your exposed chest and turn your head to face him. “Then better start talking. I keep a gun between my stockings, so you are warned.”

“I’ll explain everything to you if you’ll just let me.” He holds his hands up in surrender and you nod in agreement.

Wiping the sweat away from his forehead, the bed dips slightly when he goes to the bathroom to retrieve a wet washing cloth for the both of you. “Here, let me help clean you up first.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you touch me, Steve,” you scowl hot-headedly. “You keep your filthy hands away from me. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

His eyebrows knit together in an ugly frown while he sets his right knee down on the edge of the bed, drawing his face closer to yours. “If you want to know the truth, you’ll let me take care of you.” It does not sound like a threat, but there is definitely a warning hidden away in the intimidating tenor to his husky voice.

Laying back on the bed with an annoyed glare, you pull your knees up so Steve can settle between them. His touch is caring and careful as he gingerly wipes away the excess arousal. “You know,” he says in a teasing tone when he finishes up, “It’s been a while since I’ve tasted you.”

“Oh fuck off,” you throw back at him, cocking your head so your eyes do not fall on his hands tending to his own member with a second washing cloth, throwing it in the bathroom sink on his way over to the bed.

“I love you, Y/N, don’t you for a second doubt that,” he starts off his soliloquy with a plea. “I never intended to keep this from you, but if you must know all my secrets, I am willing to tell you everything. I don’t want them to create a wedge between us. But you have to promise me that you won’t kill me.”

“I can’t promise you a thing,” you spit out. “You’re lucky I haven’t kicked you out yet. I don’t want a killer near my daughter.”

He releases a bouldering laugh. “You don’t want a killer near your daughter?” He shakes his head, a wicked grin adorning his darkened features. “Oh doll, you have no idea, do you? You have no idea what kind of man I am, what kind of man you love.”


	9. The killers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The devil may care what happens in Brooklyn, but the Manhattan Mistress has lost all her trust in Steve and is getting ready for battle. Song is “Shoot and run” by Josef Salvat.

Then

“These are not the kind of marks make-up can cover up, darling,” Natasha warns as she dips some foundation onto a make-up sponge and applies it where malicious fingers have left a nasty imprint on your neck. “I’m sorry this happened to you, honey. I’m so sorry,” she repeats as her voice grows softer and softer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call anyone? Tony maybe?”

You violently shake your head no. “I don’t want to talk to anyone about it. I just want to get up on that stage and sing. Got a couple new songs I’d like to introduce to the public tonight. Sam’s been bugging me for something new for a while now.” You try to talk away the nerves but your voice keeps faltering, your hands keep shaking and slowly but surely you’re tearing up inside. You feel extremely filthy, you feel soiled and violated but most of all, you feel broken.

“Y/N, you’ve just been assaulted,” Natasha carefully breaches the subject. “You need to talk to someone about it, someone that is not me. I am not a therapist.”

“I know, it’s just… I wanted to call the police, I really did. But I can’t because what good will it do? The police is corrupt, Nat. They’ll wave it off, tell me I was asking for it. People will probably say I shouldn’t have worn such a short skirt.”

Natasha’s hand stops right above your collarbone, her eyes frantically searching yours. “Don’t do that to yourself, Y/N. You wear what you wanna wear. Just because you’re wearing a short skirt doesn’t mean it gives men the permission to rape you.”

Lulling your head to the side, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling, you are unable to look your friend in the eye. “He knew, Nat, he knew. He knew about Peter Parker.” Something in her expression changes dramatically. Natasha looks poised and she’s adept at hiding her inner turmoil from your scrutinising gaze, but the flash of worry behind her eyes does not go unnoticed.

Peter Parker. It has been a long time since you’ve come across that name. Peter used to be Tony’s protégé, his number one. He was a young lad and much like Pietro, Peter was always ready to do his boss’s bidding without ever asking questions or second-guessing the motives behind the task at hand. Casey took a liking to Peter and considered him as somewhat an older brother. Needless to say, he took advantage of that.

“He knew what we did and he told me that if I made one sound, he’d tell Tony. He said I was going to takes his cock like a good girl before he banged my head into the wall,” you choke out in a loud sob, clutching your hand over your heart. “Tony loved that kid, even refused to believe me when I,” you run your hands down your face, completely distraught, “When I told him that the only reason Peter Parker sticks by his side like glue is because he is spying on him for the competition.”

Tony wouldn’t hear a word of it, already too deep entangled in the spider’s nest that Peter had woven for him. He wanted a son so badly that he was even considered adoption at one point. But then Casey got taken very ill and the subject never resurfaced again, partially because you didn’t feel like being a substitute mother for a little traitor. Nevertheless, their relationship was strong and not even you, still Y/N Stark, could break them apart. “He would never forgive me, forgive us for killing his surrogate son.”

The entire thing was all a grotesque mix-up. Clint was the one who came to you with the information and told you that Peter had been played and manipulated by men he admired and looked up to in order to betray the one person that ever properly looked after him, Tony Stark. You then confided in Natasha about what you had found out and together you arranged a deal. You didn’t mean to kill the poor kid and even though you weren’t exactly inexperienced in the field of extortion and the game of shoot and run, you couldn’t help but to hesitate to pull the trigger, resulting in one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made. And somehow the man who attacked you found out about it and used it against you. 

 

Now

“Y/N,” Sam pipes up from behind his bar when he sees you passing by, arm linked with Steve and a playful smile on both your lips.

“Sam,” you mimic with a less than amused glance in his direction when he interrupts your amicable moment with your husband. You want to share at least one more night free of woeful worry before shit hits the fan tomorrow morning. God knows how much longer you have to keep up the charades.

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” He motions for you to follow him to the back. Pecking Steve’s lips in a chaste kiss, Steve wining a little at the loss of your warm body enveloped in his arms, you quickly follow suit, your heels clicking in a steady and confident rhythm that perfectly conceals the hammering of your frantic heart.

“Bucky asked me to talk to you ‘bout something but we’ll get to that in a minute,” he whispers carefully, shutting the door closed behind you. Taking a quick look around the room, you notice Sam doesn’t keep many trinkets or other personal items for that matter. He prefers to keep his place neat and tidy, so you are not surprised to see a single leather couch occupying the backspace. “First I gotta tell you a whole other story.”

Taking a seat on its armrest, you cross your arms over your chest and nod for Sam to continue. He’s painstakingly nervous, holding a handkerchief in his one hand to wipe away the tiny drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. You’ve never seen him this jumpy before.

“Get on with it Sam, I’ve got a date with my husband.” My voice carries a steady rhythm and it feels foreign to me considering, well, my second marriage is about to go down the drain.

“Yes, boss,” he is quick to reply, leaning with his back against the door. Hesitation is evident in his chocolate brown eyes and for a minute I consider walking over to him and hug my friend. “You see, a while ago, Steve has confided in me about a very delicate matter and it just so happens that Bucky told me a couple things as well.”

Sam clears his throat a couple times, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. He tries to find the correct words to voice out his opinion but fails to find one. He doesn’t want to do this, be the middle man in Bucky’s conquest for Y/N’s heart and Steve’s ransacked fixation on her and her daughter. Bucky wants what he is bereaved off, Steve is living in his own fantasy world and Sam just wants to take care of his friend who just happens to be the Brooklyn mob boss too.

“Bucky wants me to tell you all about how Steve killed Peggy and how he’s bribing Tony into paying for his stupid campaign. But I have a feeling you already know this, am I right?”

“Steve told me himself,” you confirm coolly. “And I had Scott do a little research. Steve knows about the affair with Bucky.” Motioning for Sam to take a seat, you tell him about Scott’s discoveries.

The bar had been filled with unsavoury characters, instantly providing an easy climate for this eve’s shady business transaction. Scott is waiting for me in the booth in the far back that has a perfect view on the stage. This spot is usually reserved for Steve and Bucky when they attend one of my performances, but tonight it serves an entirely different purpose.

As I slide in the eat across from Scott, nursing a dark and syrupy liquor that can only be one of Sam’s latest illegal brews, he carefully eyes our surroundings before speaking in a low, hushed voice. “Here’s the file you requested,” he whispers as he hands me a small stack of papers. I notice he has a faraway look about him and there’s obvious disdain in his movements as he passes the information to me.

“So what did you find out?” I try to keep my voice level and take a small sip from my glass of white wine. Usually I would opt for red but I don’t feel the need to get completely hammered tonight, which is a job for red wine, so I ordered a bottle of Chardonnay instead.

Scott nervously cards his fingers through his pitch-black hair. “Look, Y/N. I respect you a great deal, but this,” he pauses momentarily, searching for the right words in an attempt to not piss of the Brooklyn mob boss. “This is heavy shit, love. These photographs caught you in a few compromising positions with your…” Scott searches for the appropriate term, trying his best not to offend you. “With your lover, Bucky Barnes.”

Sending him a curious glance, you peer into the folder in front of me. As you open it, photographs of Bucky and yourself are revealed alongside a series of notes and numbers, some of which you vaguely recognise as a couple of Tony’s bank statements. “What the fuck is this?,” you murmur under your breath, reaching out for your glass of wine.

“It seems like your husband is keeping tabs on Bucky, too, Y/N,” Scott explains gingerly. “The numbers are for the amount of money Tony Stark withdrew and the notes clearly indicate the date on which the pics were taken and other trivia such as where you were and what you were doing. It also contains a couple graphic descriptions. I believe this,” he taps the USB twice with his pointer finger before resuming, “This doesn’t belong to Tony. I think this belongs to whoever has been stalking you and Bucky. From what I’ve gathered so far, I believe that’s Steve.”

Scott is wary of your words and remains stoic for as long as you remain silent. “So Steve and Tony know about Bucky and me,” you respond calmly, not even batting an eye. After what you’ve learnt about Steve, this doesn’t come as such a surprise anymore.

“He has an unhealthy obsession with you and your daughter, love.” Scott closes his laptop and slurping the remainder of his drink in one go. “Better be careful, dear,” he advises as you hand him the money you owe him. “I’ve seen cases like this before and I can assure you, it never ends pretty. Either the spouse ends up in the river or the entire family never makes it out alive. You don’t want that for your kid. For your kids.”

Scott notices how your entire body tenses up at this and he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “People talk, whether you’re the mob boss or not, they’re going to find out one way or the other. Better to stay out of trouble, Y/N.”

“Scott,” you sigh, looking upset, “I’m not going to have a child with Steve, Dr. Cho assured me. Also, I’ve got other plans for my deceitful husband, trust me.”

“Very well,” he chuckles softly, “But that doesn’t mean someone else can’t knock you up.” And with a wink, Scott takes his leave and you’re left behind flustered, confused and frustrated. 

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Sam hisses at you after you finish your story, spinning on the balls of his feet whilst furiously shaking his head. “Why, Y/N, why on earth are you still with that fucker?,” he emphasises his words with wild gestures, groaning in frustration as you simply smirk back at your flustered friend.

“What did you expect me to do after finding out my husband’s been blackmailing my ex into funding his stupid campaign for him, using my daughter and myself as leverage! Shoot him in the ass? Flame his balls off with a blowtorch?” The words are coming faster than you can keep up with and as your mind is struggling to pick up the pace as well, you’re already seething with anger till you reach the point of no return. “I have to stay with him to protect my daughter, Sam. But believe me when I say his actions will not go unpunished.”

Sam huffs at you, refusing to believe it has come down to this. Through gritted teeth he says “Listen to yourself, Y/N.” Stalking over to you in big steps, his hands grip your shoulders and gives you a good shake. “Y/N, Steve’s a psychopath. You have to leave him and take your daughter with you. Tony has the money and resources to get you, Casey and hell, even Bucky outta New York by tomorrow morning!”

“I can’t! I can’t leave him, Sam!” You push Sam away from you with much more force than you thought you were capable of. “He’s obsessed with me. Till the end of the line, Sam, till the end of the line and he means it. He will find me, he will hunt me down.”

“Please, Y/N, leave him.”

“I CAN’T!”

Something within Sam snaps. “YOU HAVE TO LEAVE HIM Y/N, STEVE IS THE ONE WHO…” He clasps his hand in front of his mouth, knowing he just overstepped his boundary of confidentiality. But it’s too late now to backpedal the hell outta this mess.

“Sam,” you point a finger at him, a menacing look on your face, “Continue. Right. Now.”

Sam swallows audibly, gazing into the darkness behind your pupils. “Steve is the one who raped you.”

Up until now you had managed to keep your composure but when he delivers that final validation it is as if there’s no need for you to continue anymore. Your life has crumbled into tiny little pieces in a matter of seconds. Sam’s arms reach out to catch you as your trembling frame makes its acquaintance with the carpet underneath my heels. You are screaming but the music on the other side of the door is too loud for anyone to ever notice it. You are screaming and cursing and as string after string of profanities and whatnot leave your body, you resume to the empty shell you used to be when you were younger.

“It can be true, it can’t be,” you cry without ever holding back, just letting it all out. “I fucking loved him, why does everyone I love…”

The words get stuck at the back of your throat as you reach for the empty bucket serving as bin and spill your heart out. Throwing up has left you with an even bigger void inside your heart, for as far as you still had one. God knows you’ve already cut it up in so many pieces and given it to so many men.

“Hey hey hey, Y/N,” Sam shushes gently, sending you a half-smile in pity but pity is not something you need right now. Right now you have to make a change of plans.

He helps you get back up on your two feet, readjusts your dress for you whilst you take a minute to level your breathing. Your fingers find the zipper of your purse and you pull it open, feeling the sudden need to check your otherwise immaculate make-up. You’re relieved to see that the waterproof mascara is indeed waterproof and that your lipstick only needs a bit of touching up here and there. If you can’t look your best when you’re at your worst, then what’s the fucking point?

The thought of standing face-to-face with the man that ruined everything for you, your trust and your love and your belief that there is still some good in this fucked up world… It was all too much for you. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t bear the touch of Steve’s hand on your lower waist as he escorts you out the bar and towards your home. But you have to steel yourself.

“Tell Bucky to give me a call at midnight,” you order Sam as you put up a straight face and bite your tongue. “Tell him not to pack his bags, we ain’t going to run from one shithole to another. But tell him to bring a bag with him, one big enough to fit a body. That’ll do.”

Sam concludes your conversation with a sad smile and walks you back towards where the two of you left Steve. He’s just finishing up on his drink and when his eyes land on you, a sunny smirk almost splits his face in two. You think it’s despicable but for the sake of appearances, you wrap your arms around his thin waist and bury your hands in the back pockets of his jeans, teasingly squeezing his sexy bum whilst kissing him deeply, keeping the shivers at bay by rubbing your crotch against the bulge in his pants and prompting a feral growl from your husband. Despite the obvious physical attraction, there is nothing but hatred you feel towards him. So you’re going to ruin him like he ruined you.

He’s going down tonight.


	10. The betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reveals his true self. The song is “Thief” by Ansel Elgort (yes, he is a singer now, too).

The car ride back to the mansion is mostly filled with feather-light touches and heavy breathing, Steve too riled up to keep his hands off you. So naturally he suggested you could take a relaxing bubble bath together, soak in the jacuzzi to get those sore muscles to relax. You had agreed with a soft smile and got into the tub, fitting perfectly into his arms and resting your head on his collarbone. He embraces you, takes care of you, helps you wash your hair and even massages your shoulders without you having to ask him to. Steve’s attentive, it’s almost as if he knows his end is near. It’s as if he’s willing to make amends, even if it’s just for a short period of time.

When both of you have clean up and your skin has started to wrinkle, Steve’s lips nip at the shell of your ear. “You’re on edge, darling. Did I do something wrong?” Nuzzling his face in the nape of your neck, his laugh rumbles through your body and veins. “Or is it something I didn’t do? Who knows with you women,” he chuckles lightly.

You can’t take it anymore, the innocent grin he pretends to hide behind. After a heartbeat of silence, your voice pierces the clouds of bliss Steve has you surrounded with. “Why did you do it?”

Your voice is lighter than you would’ve imagined, confronting Steve with the ugly truth. His body stiffens behind you, his teeth have stopped scraping your sweet spot and his hold on you has tightened considerably. He knows what you’re talking about, he knows what you’re asking of him.

His voice is ice cold as he speaks again. “Because of your father.”

“Let me tell you a bit more about Peggy. We were high school sweethearts, just like you and Bucky. I was a scrawny little kid before I got my growth spurt and bulked up. I got bullied a lot on the school playground and Peggy, dear Peggy was the only one who ever stood up for me.”

He takes a deep breath, pressing his chest impossibly closer to your back. Like a caged animal, cornered and drawn into a fight you don’t want to be a part of. But cornered animals are the most dangerous and unpredictable.

“Now, your mother was a teacher at our school so your father used to come round a lot to pick her up after classes had ended. One day he was waiting outside the class door and caught a glimpse of Peggy. His visits became more often, especially when your mother was teaching the classes Peggy was in. Your father was smitten with her, he wanted to possess her and so he did.”

Your hands start to tremble underneath the weight of Steve’s confession, every single drop of water an ocean swallowing you whole. “I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was a week before prom when Peggy came to me, crying crocodile tears, telling me she had a confession to make. Turns out your father had an affair with my girlfriend. I would never hit a woman, it’s not in my nature, but for a short moment I lost it and hit her with the back of my hand. I threatened her while she continued to apologise and then I fucked her raw so she knows who owns her. Me, not your father.”

He smirks, a hearty laugh rumbling through his chest and escaping his lips, as if it’s one big joke to him. “That’s the day I decided to ruin your life, darling, the day I decided I would take away your father’s most beloved daughter, his only child. It took me years to hatch a plan. I followed your every move, documented your habits and your daily rituals. I got to know you, I wanted to know you inside out so I could use everything against you, determined to get under your skin. So when I found out about Peter Parker, I decided this was the perfect leverage. Now the only thing left to do was create the perfect opportunity.”

Quickly you turn your body to strike him in the face but Steve anticipated your move and grabs your wrists, a steel grasp forcing you to comply. Immobile, you are obliged to listen further. “I spiked the food of your driver so he’d call in sick and you’d be forced to walk to the club all by yourself. You’d have to pass through that dark alley just a corner away from the Cuckoo’s Nest and that’s where I wanted to take you. I didn’t intend to just rape you, I wanted to kill you.” 

“But I got too caught up, I loved the way you felt around my cock. Sure, I got my way with Peggy on the regular. She let me do everything I wanted to her, merely out of guilt and out of shame, too, I guess. She couldn’t leave me, I made sure of that. Her cancer was a blessing, to be honest, because I was getting a bit bored of her. And at that time we had already started going out as well.”

His growing erection is pressing into your lower back, his vice grip on your wrists tying them together in your lap as his other hand wraps around your neck. His fingertips squeeze your throat, much like they had done all those years ago. Struggling for breath, your legs protesting, kicking up the water as your body continues to fight against his strength. Then all of a sudden he releases you.

“You see, I kept thinking about you, thoughts of you kept spiralling inside my mind. I realised that all those days and nights I watched you closely, I had fallen in love with you. I couldn’t not have you be a part of my life anymore and that’s why, eventually, I approached you after one of your gigs. That’s why I made you fall for me too, because if there’s someone just as sick and twisted as I am, it’s you, Y/N.”

“Are you finished?,” you bite back, straining against his hands bruising your sensitive skin. “Are you done fucking around with me?”

Steve pushes you down, head-first into the water, your back bend as your hands fail you. Your lips sealed tight, you try not to inhale any of the water, not wanting to grant him to satisfaction of dying on him in your own house, in your own freaking bath tub. “Y/N,” you hear him say as you continue to struggle, “No matter how much I would enjoy to kill you right now, I want you to suffer first.”

He pulls you back up by lacing his fingers into your wet hair and tugging harshly. You come up for air, panting profoundly, your lungs yearning for air like an alcoholic craves for his drink. “I’m going to fuck you hard, so hard that you won’t be able to run or walk away from me,” he murmurs into your ear, his free hand that isn’t entangled in your Y/H/C strands skimming the valley of your breasts, emphasising the word “hard” with a pinch to your nipples, eliciting a small yelp from your lips.

There’s no point in denying you’re scared because my God, are you scared that this man, this man you loved, will be the death of you. “And then I’m going to tie you up on the bed,” he purrs into your other ear, catching a whiff of the anxiety you exhale.

“I do love you, Y/N. Peggy stayed with me out of fear but you stayed because you actually love me.” There’s sentiment to be found in his words, his tone no longer menacing and teasing, but soft and kind to the nerves. But it doesn’t make your heart swell, on the contrary, it makes you want to end him in the most painful way possible. Torture him, maim him, shoot him. A quick death a favour you’re not willing to grant him.

There must be a way out of this, there has to be a way to manipulate your way out of this fucked up misery. “What if I told you that you don’t have to kill me?” This peaks his interest, glancing curiously your way with a satisfactory smirk playing his features like a mask ready to be torn off. A false pretence you can see right through. “What if I told you we could rule this city together?”

He clicks his tongue, his eyes hardening instantly. “I don’t want to rule this city, I want to rule your body, my little birdie.” Steve drags you out of the tub as if you’re weightless and with ease and composure he struts over to the bed. You know better than to resist and choose to watch intently as the drops of water falls from your naked form onto the oak floor instead of looking at a man who faces his own insanity with both pride and agony. He wants you to give him willingly what he has taken by force before.

Hovering over you as he gently lays you down on the bed, his lips tease yours as he bites down on your lower lip. Smirking, he tells you all the things he wishes to do to you. You have no other choice but to listen. “I would bleed for you if you’d just ask me to. I would pledge my soul to you. You would not be my pet whore, darling Y/N, that is a faith too unkind for you. I intended you to be my equal but now,” he pauses momentarily to peck a chaste kiss onto your quivering lips, “Now you will be my queen, not my mistress, but my queen. My beautiful, dark queen.”

He presses his lips on yours, cupping your face in his calloused hands as his member twitches against your inner thigh. Steve’s tongue deepens the kiss instantly but he’s too lost in the kiss to notice your hand reaching underneath the pillow. It’s an old habit, an extremely useful tactic to keep a knife or a gun hiding underneath the pillow you rest your head upon at night. In your case, it’s a knife, hand-made by your father as a birthday present. It was also his way of making up for chasing your Bucky away, as if a fucking knife would ever help you fill in the piercing void in your heart. If anything, it only helped him cut deeper into your heart until nothing but pitiful shreds remain.

You are about to stab him in his neck when he whispers against your lips. “You don’t want to do that, sweetie, if you ever wish to know how to save your beloved suitors.”

Your action stills mid-air, the knife lingering in the space between your hand and Steve’s coronary artery. “What?,” you heave out exasperatedly.

Steve smiles cunningly, taking advantage of your confusion to rip the knife out of your hand and place it on the bedside table. “If you wish to save the father of your child and the man that keeps your bed warm whenever I am not around, you better hold off on killing me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes move over his facial features and you allow yourself to study him closely. His good complexion and those beautiful baby blues, his tall built and strong hands with those pertinent veins, his neatly cut hair. This is the man you want to remember. But then something changes.

His fingers cards through your hair, his lips shushing you. “I was surprised at how easily I could manipulate Tony. You truly are his only weak spot.” Steve chuckles lowly when you turn your face to the side, unable to bare the sight of him anymore and he kisses your cheek instead.

“But I was even more surprised at how easily your friend Natasha can be manipulated. She loves you so much. She loves you just as much as all the other fuckers do. Honestly, I never took her for a lesbian but I guess it explains everything. Her devotion to you bordering a mad love.”

“Natasha is my friend. She would never do anything to inflict me harm or discomfort,” you mumble into the pillow, cringing and grinding your teeth as Steve rolls off you to face you, intently staring into your eyes.

“She ordered Pietro’s death, my love.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you’ve lost all ability to breathe. Your best friend, the woman who helped you cover up the marks this man has left on your body, she took away your boy, your Pietro. He didn’t have a bad bone in his body, so what did he do to deserve such a fate crueller than anything else, death by the bullet of a friend’s gun.

“All it took was a couple tears, a handkerchief and some fraudulent evidence. Agreed, she was sceptical at first but I’m quite adept at fabricating false truths when I need to. It’s safe to say I pulled a Peter Parker on her.”

“You framed Pietro just like my father’s associates framed Peter,” I hiss back at him, the lump at the back of my throat dissipating as my anger grows.

“That’s right,” he grins smugly, “She’d do anything to protect you from such misfortune again.”

“What else did you do?”

“I set a couple of things in motion. My goal was always to wreak havoc, and wreak havoc I will. Tony and Bucky will both be dead by midnight. You can save one of them, I’ll tell you who to contact. I must say I played it pretty well.”

“What do I have to do? I’ll do anything to save them, anything.” You plead with him, searching for some kind of leniency behind his ice cold baby blues.

“Oh, I’m sure you will. But darling, you can only save one of them. The price you will have to pay for that is, well,” Steve stops speaking to gauge your reaction, satisfied with the eagerness shining behind your teary eyes. “Make love to me one last time.”

“Only if you tell me first,” you demand with the little authority you still have left over him.

“Okay.” He positions himself on top of you again, supporting his weight on his elbows as his eyes search for the venom you’re ready to spit into his face. He wants you to lash out at him so he can dominate the fury that eats away at your flesh. “Clint is strong and potent in his skills and he hates Tony for what he has done to you. You’ll find them at the Stark tower.”

“Go on,” you encourage coolly.

“Bucky, God, I really want to kill that son of a bitch myself but you know that I can’t. I have to stay clean, Y/N. No actual blood on my hands. Natasha gave me exactly what in needed in order to get rid of him.”

“How did you manage to convince her to tell you Bucky’s secret? How do you even know how to use it to your advantage? Nobody but Nat and I have ever known. What did you do to her, tell me! What did you do to her because I’m fairly sure she would’ve carried it to her grave!”

Steve chuckles darkly. “Well tell that to T’Challa, doll. Bucky murdered his father, it’s the only reason why he would ever come back to this shithole. You’ve fooled yourself long enough, thinking he came back for you.”

“You lead one of the most vicious guns to my city, to my home town? For what? To get rid of the competition for you? So you could have a happy ever after with me? You are so wrong if you think I’ll ever let you live this down. After all you’ve done, all the chaos you thrive in, it’ll be that same chaos and debauchery that will be your downfall.”

“Yes,” he hisses, invigorated by your outrage, “That’s it, my girl. Call me all the names you want, shout at me, scream at me. Hell, you can even stab me for all that’s worth but that’s the women I fell in love with. Not the Manhattan mistress even though I’ve enjoyed your little act. But the woman underneath it all, the bitch of Brooklyn, that’s the woman I’ll worship and follow till the end of the fucking line.”

“Good,” you say before grabbing the knife from the bedside table, Steve briefly distracted by his own admiration for the woman he’s trying to possess like your father tried with Peggy. Without much further ado, you plant the knife in between his shoulder blades. “Now die, you motherfucker.” You hug him close one last time only to drive the knife deeper into his back. It’s a pleasing look in his eyes, the light slowly fading away from the blue you could’ve loved until the end of your days.

And with these finals words, you say goodbye one last time to the past you shall always remember and the future you shall never cherish.

“If you truly loved the Brooklyn bitch, you should’ve seen it coming.”


	11. The tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N can save only one man.

Part 11: “Everybody has some kind of tragedy in them. He is mine.”

I’m a selfish person, always have been. It has nothing to do with the mob life or the choices other people have made for me, it’s just the way I am. I kill in cold blood and take what I want. The gun has always been mine. And now I am forced to make a choice between the father of my daughter or the love of my life, between what’s best for my daughter or what’s best for me.

I quickly open the closet and take out the first piece of clothing my fingers can find, a navy wrap dress, not even bothering with a bra or panties. Because what are panties when your husband is bleeding out in your king-size bed, the entire thing looking like a morbid crime scene straight from the big movie screen.

Picking up the phone and dialling Natasha’s number, I take one final look in Steve’s direction. One last look and I’m done with this life. And when Natasha finally voice finally pipes up on the other end of the line, the urgency in my voice is enough to get her to jump into her car and speed over to Stark Tower.

“I killed Steve,” I announce distantly, not cold and neither void of any distress. Just distant. I have lost all sympathy, all feelings I ever had for anyone, ever. I’m done.

“Good riddance,” she replies in an uncharacteristically monotone voice. “May he never rest in hell.”

Apart from myself, if there’s one other person that can stop Clint from shooting Tony, it’s Natasha. Despite cheating on her with Wanda, Natasha is his first love and you never forget your first lov. Yes, he’s a cheater but infidelity does not define his character. I most certainly do not condone his mistake, even though I too am at fault, but I do know he’s got a good heart.

“Clint’s gonna kill Tony unless you do something about it.”

I told her to take Casey with her, convinced Clint will never kill her father in front of the eyes of his little girl. It’s a cruel trick to pull on him, but right now it’s the only thing that’ll keep everyone from losing their sanity amidst the flames.

I take the first car my eyes land upon when entering the garage filled with Steve’s indulgent fast cars, the only element in his life he never had any trouble splurging on. It’s his Impala, the perfect getaway car. And as music blasts through the speakers, my heart falls in line with the speed of the car racing through the late night traffic as I twist and turn and pray I’ll make it in time to save Bucky. Because I am selfish and I need him more than I need Tony.

I asked Bucky to meet me at the one place we could always be ourselves, clumsy groping in the dark included. The old arcade where Bucky used to work during the summer, where everyone knew who we were but no one cared. Yet the old arcade burnt down one faithless Sunday night and made way for a fancy gentleman’s bar. One of the joints my father used to run during his glory days before he sold it and spent the money on hookers and booze, the way it worked back in the day.

But now, the old arcade, the fancy gentleman’s bar, they both have made way for just another building in decline. It’s merely a dingy bar now, one of the last places I thought I’d ever set foot in. One of the last places on my payroll that I’ve left untouched, because it holds too many memories.

By the time I arrive there, I feel it in my bones that I have just sealed Tony’s faith. One more man I couldn’t save. One more man I should’ve saved. One more man whose blood is on my hands.

Against my better judgment, I do not rush inside, I do not let the panic flowing in blood overtake me. I do what I’ve always done in times of distress. I keep a level head. I dismiss anything and everything that can serve as a distraction. So with calm and grace I walk inside, the threshold does no longer look like an obstacle, not another hurdle to jump over.

There’s nobody inside but a couple patrons that do not know my name and do not recognise my face. How could they? Until tonight, most of them thought Steve was the Brooklyn mob boss. Oh what a sore disappointment awaits them tomorrow when the blood has dried and seeped through the cracks of this fucked up town. Then they will know the true wrath of the fury. Then nobody will no longer look down upon me. I will make them feel my losses, I will make them pay for my losses.

I am the Brooklyn mob boss, you fucking cunts.

A light chuckles bounces off the wall to my left and from the shadows of the hallway emerges a dark-skinned individual with the most lively eyes I have encountered. Even though I have never had the displeasure of running into him, I know his name by heart. T’Challa, his voice as hearty as his eyes.

“This man you have come to save,” he declares in a sing-songy voice, impressive in its regal tone. “He is your paramour, is he not? But you are married.”

“My husband used me.”

“I am not surprised to hear that.” His words speak of no sympathy whatsoever, but his posture reveals that he does in fact feel sorry for you. “My name is T’Challa. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He extends his hand towards you, which you take with a firm handshake.

“After all,” he continues when he releases your hand, “Once you run in certain circles… it’s easy to get burnt.”

“And you are here to burn me, too?,” I query as I take another step forward, stepping into the moonlight, luring him away from the shadows he’s been residing in.

He turns his head to the side as if he is contemplated a decision he has already made, eventually following your example and closing the remaining distance. The evening graces his handsome features, the light falling ever so gracefully over his strong jaw.

“No,” is the single answer you receive.

“Then we have nothing to further discuss. Tell me where Bucky is, please,” is the only reply you are willing to give him.

You are met with indifference. Not with anger or resentment, every ounce of hatred whisked away by time and hardship. T’Challa is here for revenge, but his revenge does not extend to you. You are just getting in the way.

“I’m afraid I can’t.”

You hit a very sensitive nerve as soon as you see that ghost of a grin disappear. “Your father was like my father,” I smile bitterly, a smile mimicked sourly by the man in front of you, the man who knows you’re right. “He got what he deserved.”

“He didn’t need a wife to tell him what to do. He had plenty of women on the side. That’s the life he chose to lead and so he preferred to call himself a self-made man. But the truth is, T’Challa, my father, and also your father, they were both monsters. My father didn’t love my mother. He fucked her and when he found out she was with child, he exchanged her for a younger version. He only took an interest in me because he needed offspring to pass down his crooked mob empire to.”

“But that’s not how it all started,” you continue in that same, no-nonsense voice, unfazed by the looming presence of this man who has Bucky’s life dangling between his fingertips.

“My father ruined many people, including Bucky. He resented him, as did he resent me for loving him. So he chased him away, the same way he pushed me away. That’s how Bucky ended up in your father’s territory. And he did what he does best, working for a self-proclaimed self-made man. A cruel man who pushed his son away because he was afraid he’d one day outmatch him. A man who raped your fiancé because he thought she was not good enough for you.”

“Shut your mouth,” he snaps at you, losing his royal composure.

“Good enough for the streets but not for the high life, as my father used to say about my mother.”

“I said, shut your mouth,” he repeats, stressing every word with a click of his gun as he assembles it. He’s prepared, pulling out a silencer from his jacket pocket. He is ready for the kill.

“I’ll let you in on a secret. I killed my own father. You feel the need to avenge your father’s death out of some false sense of duty, entitlement, family values… I don’t give a shit. I killed my own father because I was tired. Tired of putting up with his bullshit. And if there is one thing I’ve learnt from my father, it’s that taking a life… it gets easier. Cocking back the gun, it gets easier. But the guilt doesn’t and it’s the guilt that makes it unbearable.”

You let out a deep sigh, another sign of how exhausted you truly are. “I’ve killed almost every single bitch trying to steal my men away from me.”

“Sometimes I was the one behind the gun, other times I had someone do it for me. Doesn’t make the guilt go away. It doesn’t matter. As soon as you take Bucky away from me, you will be just like your father. A vicious piece of shit. We both know that’s not you, not the man you want to become. It’s not even the man your father would’ve been proud of. It’s just a different version of the man who raised you. Or failed to raise you.”

“I can’t just spare his life,” T’Challa tells me, full of wickedness.

“Then shoot him,” I say to him, equally corrupted. “But my guess is that you just want to let go of all that pent-up frustration. You don’t want to kill him, you just want to fuck him up real good. Give him a good reminder.”

“I don’t think we see eye to eye, Y/N,” he lies to me. He lies all too well, the blatant truth in every fibre and every nerve of our bodies. We are not natural born killers. We are trained, hardened and abused. But no natural killers. “I am going to kill him. Besides, I thought you came here to save him?”

“I am here to save him. He doesn’t have to die. Bucky isn’t exactly innocent, but he did not kill your father in cold blood. It was self-defence.”

“I don’t understand.” He clenches his jaw, pointing the gun at me. “He killed my father.” Doubt is weaving its way into his words. “He killed my father and took his money.”

“Your father, T’Challa, considered himself to be a king. And every king needs his queen. He was going to take a girl by force and make her his queen. Bucky wanted to stop him.”

“What about the money, Y/N?,” he questions my honesty, readying the gun for my demise. “My father’s place was stripped by the time the news reached my ears.”

“He searched your father for money and gave it to the girl. He told her to run and so she did. Then he trashed the place, with the intention of setting the entire joint on fire. Some of your father’s men saw him and scared him off. They must’ve robbed your father from all his valuables, not Bucky. Bucky was already long gone before his men could get to him. Violence, especially unnecessary violence, repulses Bucky. he would never willingly engage in a fist fight.”

His finger tightens around the trigger and all decency is thrown out the window. “You filthy whore,” he screams at me, his decorum long lost. “You will die. You will die just like your filthy cockroach.”

It’s a strange sensation, the sound of a gun firing. Especially when you’re not the one pulling the trigger.


	12. The grand finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything draws to an end.

Blood pools around you, the sticky red substance flowing freely from the gunshot wound, drenching your dress and staining the floor underneath your wailing body. With heavy eyelids you watch how the heels of T’Challa’s custom made shoes click against the ground when he walks away.

Until you realise it’s not his heels that are clicking. He installed a bomb and as you force your head to look sideways so you can inspect the device, there’s only ten minutes on the clock left. Knowing Bucky must be somewhere close, you croak out his name. Your voice is raw, hoarse and after one failed attempt, you try again and again until Bucky finally responds. “Y/N? Y/N!”

“Where… the fuck… are you… Buck?,” you pant while you push yourself off the floor with clenched teeth and whatever strength you have left. Clutching your stomach after balling your jacket to stop the bleeding a little.

Placing your blood-soaked hands to the wall to support yourself, you wobble unsteadily to the sound of Bucky’s voice guiding you to the next room where he’s being held. It leaves a bloody handprint in your wake, a blurred vision impairing your abilities to think straight. So you find Bucky tied to a chair but you’re unable to untie him, fumbling with slippery and shaking hands.

“I had a knife. In our struggle, T’Challa kicked it away.” Bucky points to the far left corner behind you. “Just give it to me doll and then I can free myself.”

In your disorientation due to the vast loss of blood from your gunshot wound, you fall down on your knees again about halfway through, extending your hand and crawling slowly to glide the knife towards your fingertips. “Y/N,” Bucky asks while craning his neck, trying to see if you’re okay. “Is that blood I see? Are you hurt, doll?”

“Yes,” you groan between gritted teeth as you finally grab the knife. “The bastard shot me.”

You sigh and heave in order to get to Bucky, all your strength fading quickly. Putting the knife in Bucky’s hands, he cuts the ropes that tied him together. Instantly they fly to yours, holding you steady as he wraps an arm around your shoulder to support you.

“We gotta get outta here,” you insist in a feeble voice, “There’s a bomb.”

“C’mon babe,” Bucky whispers urgently into your ear once his hands come up red too from holding you to him. In one swift move, he scoops your up into his arms and carries you outside, or at least hopes to make it outside as T’Challa locked and barricaded the doors so nobody would be able to get out.

“Shit, shit!,” Bucky hisses as he turns to you, “Please stay awake for me, babe. Please,” he begs while he assists you to sit as comfortably as possible against the wall while he looks for a good way out.

T’Challa’s bomb won’t last much longer and you’re running out of options, Bucky forcing the door open with his shoulder leading to a dead end. This is not an option, and neither is being blown up. “The old tunnels under the building, Buck.”

“What?,” he grumbles lowly, clutching a hand over his shoulder as he bites away the pain. “What tunnels?”

Extending your hands, you command his to lift you up again. “I might remember the way.”

Even though your mind is messed up and you’re constantly wrung between staying conscious and blacking out, you manage to recall that one time your father bragged about the stash he kept in the secret underground tunnels leading away from the building and towards the basement of a brick house couple blocks away.

The tunnels are damp and dusty, the entrance a hidden shutter underneath an old desk in one of the adjoining rooms to where Bucky was held captive. He kicks in the shutter, the wood rotten and fragile, looking down to see if he can see anything at all without a flashlight.

“We don’t have time,” he exhales deeply before taking the plunge and jumping down the shutter with you in his arms, a strangled yelp escaping your lips.

Fortunately the tunnels aren’t as deep as he expected and he lands on both his feet with a mild oomph. Then the running starts, the ticking of the bomb increasing rapidly while your heavy eyelids close you off from the world. Bucky’s feet carry him all the way through the dark tunnels, his breath visible as he is being chased by the warmth of the fire raging behind him, pieces of earth crumbing over his and your head as the explosion tears down everything in its wake.

“Ma’am,” the nurse politely whispers in your ear as she gently shakes you awake by touching your shoulder lightly. You pry one eye open and with a lot of effort you also open the other, the blinding hospital lights scorching your cornea. “Detective Dean Winchester and…,” she looks over to the other man entering the room and he nods, “And his brother Sam, I mean… also detective Winchester… they are here to talk to you about last night’s events.”

Groaning while you lift yourself up on your elbows until the nurse puts a pillow behind your back to support you, both detectives approach your hospital bed with the most suspicious gazes knitting their eyebrows together. Only when the nurse has left and you are finally somewhat sitting comfortably and upright, one of them speaks up. His eyes are as blue as the sky on the other end of the windows, his short hair still a little wet from the pouring rain.

“Mrs Y/N Rogers,” he begins as he introduces himself and his brother.

“Miss Y/L/N,” you correct him instantly with a daring look in your eyes. It might be very early in the morning, you still have enough common sense to recall stabbing your husband in the back. “Steve Rogers is dead.”

A sly smirk tugs one corner of his lips upwards at your no-nonsense reply. “That’s exactly why we are here.

“You see, miss Y/L/N,” his brother with the long, brown hair takes over, “After mister Barnes brought you in last night, we searched your house and found your husband, Steven Grant Rogers, dead in your bedroom. It appears he’s been stabbed.”

“And you’re here to ask me if I had anything to do with it.” You purse your lips cheekily, eyes darting back and forth from one man to the other. They’re both extremely handsome and yet so different. “Don’t waste your breath asking me, I killed him.”

The long-haired detective’s eyes are about to pop out of his sockets in surprise. “You killed him?,” he inquires gingerly, looking for another confirmation from me while his brother fishes out his notebook.

“In self-defence,” you elaborate before another shot of pain courses through your veins. You’ve lost a lot of blood from the gunshot wound, but you’re lucky it wasn’t through-and-through. It was a clean shot which makes you wonder if T’Challa just wanted to learn you a lesson instead of plainly killing you.

“I came home early,” you start off your story, the same one you’ve rehearsed in your head over and over again on your way to rescue Bucky, prepared for this moment. “It wasn’t unusual that Steve was already there as well. Usually we’d make dinner together or take our sweet time to get ready to go out for dinner somewhere fancy.”

The tallest detective clears his throat, a sign that those details are superfluous. But you need to give them those details, as they make your story more authentic, less false. “I found Steve, not in his office, but in our bedroom where he was rummaging through our closet. It appeared as if he was digging something up, like a metal box or a safe of some kind.”

“He didn’t hear me come in so he was caught completely off guard when I kissed his cheek, like I normally do when we see each other after a long day at work. That’s when I spotted it, the gun he was stashing away in a separate safe hidden underneath the floor boards of our closet.”

While the brunet takes note of every word I say, the other just stares at me blankly, not a single thought or emotion to be detected or derived from his eyes. “He pushed me aside, hard. I ended up hitting my head on the side of the bed and passed out. When I woke up, I was on the bed, naked and tied up.”

A shuddering sigh escapes your lips and prompt the sympathy of the younger detective. “It’s alright, you can tell us,” he says every so kindly while placing his hand on your arm.

“When Steve noticed me struggling, he released me. He didn’t tie me up with rope, but with silk. We sometimes did that,” you explain to the older Winchester brother, the one with the judging look in his eyes. “That’s why you don’t see any marks on my wrists.”

“I asked him about the gun but he didn’t answer, so I asked again and again until he pinned me to the bed and forced himself on me.” Swallowing thickly, you cry crocodile tears to keep your story convincing.

In reality, you didn’t feel anything anymore. In reality, you loved that your sweet Steve had such a dark side. Unfortunately, his dark side didn’t agree with yours and he had to be eliminatd before he could harm you. “When I resisted too much, he pulled a knife from one of our drawers and held it to my throat. I was scared to death, so I let him have his way with me until his attention slipped when he orgasmed.”

“That’s when his grip on the knife slipped and I could snatch it from him. We fought and -,” your breath gets caught in your throat, hiccups following shortly as you finish your sentence with an abundance of sobbing. “I didn’t mean to stab him, I just wanted to get away from him…”

“It’s okay,” the brunet shushes you softly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you. “It’s clearly self-defence.”

He looks up at his brother and he gives him a little nod with his head. Of course it’s self-defence, you paid an obscene amount of money to Fury’s men to clean up the mess and make it look like self-defence, a phone call you made with what Bucky thought would be your last breath as he drove you to the hospital.

“I just have one more question for you,” the brother breaks the uncomfortable silence between you and him. “Who shot you? And what is the link with the explosion of one of your father’s old buildings?

With seemingly bewildered eyes, you accept the nice detective’s handkerchief and dry your tears. “I don’t know anything about an explosion, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

You can sense he’s not buying it, but your father had a long-standing contract with the NYPD for their discretion, a contract that you renewed after his death, so if this detective ever decided to speak up, his brother won’t be a brother anymore.

“As for who shot me…” Taking a deep breath, you throw a glance at Bucky who has appeared in the frame of the door, behind the two detectives. “When I fled the house, my first instinct was to call my good friend Bucky Barnes. I told him my whereabouts and waited for him in my car. I didn’t lock the doors, which was my first mistake. Then an unknown man knocked on my window and before I knew it, he threatened me with a gun.”

“It was a dark-haired man with penetrative green eyes. I’ve seen him before at one of Steve’s fundraisers. He wore cufflinks with an L inscribed on them. He said it wasn’t anything personal. He said Steve had wronged him and that he had to pay for what he’s done. That I had to pay with my life for what he’s done.”

“We weren’t able to trace the bullet the doctors retrieved from your body,” the detective sitting on the bed with you informs you with a regretful smile. “But we did find some interesting documents in your late husband’s study.”

“Yes,” his brother takes over with an intrigued tone to his voice, “It appears your husband was involved in some shady business with a man named Laufeyson, who in their communication often referred to mister Rogers as ‘boss’. Miss Y/L/N, where you aware that your husband was the Brooklyn mob boss?”

“Excuse me?,” you squeak in a high-pitched voice, as genuine as you can possible be in your feigned bafflement. “The Brooklyn – what? My Steve? No.. no, no no…” You clasp your hand in front of your mouth as fake tears top off your performance.

“I’m afraid we’ve already gathered enough evidence, miss,” he continues while his eyes soften at seeing the distress wash over you. His lips move as he intends to say something else, but is interrupted by Bucky joining your side.

“She needs her rest,” he bites at the two detectives, a little angered that one of them got so familiar with you.

They both excuse themselves and turn around, but the detective with the short hair lingers a little longer before closing the door behind him, hoping to eavesdrop on whatever Bucky is mumbling under his breath. Unfortunately duty calls and his brother drags him away from your room with a dirty look in his eyes, chastising him for upsetting you.

“Any news from Natasha?,” you whisper insistently into his ear, hands clawing at his plaid shirt.

He shakes his head and bites his lower lip. “No, nothing. I tried calling her but it goes straight to voicemail.”

“I need to know if Casey is alright. I told her to take Casey with her, that Clint wouldn’t shoot Tony in front of his daughter. Please tell me I didn’t make a gross miscalculation.”

“I will check it out for you, babe,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your hair.

You turn your head to kiss his lips next, the kiss a little giggly as he smirks into it. “You have a gun?,” you ask as your tone turns serious again.

“I have the gun you gave me,” he replies earnestly and with a boyish chuckle. “Don’t worry, Y/N. If Natasha hasn’t called yet, it’s probably good news. You know how she is.”

His words of comfort mean nothing to you as long as the aching in your heart for your daughter and you ex-husband isn’t sedated by the confirmation you seek. “Yeah, I know, but this time it’s different.”

Bucky frowns at you, pulling back a little to cup your face in his hands and stroke your cheeks with thumbs. “We’ve handled the police. They will lock up Loki for Steve’s murder. That way he won’t be able to plot against you anymore. Fury is on our side. T’Challa won’t be coming back anytime soon because he believes we’re dead.”

The tiniest of smiles you muster up, if only to soothe Bucky. Deep in your heart you know for a fact that something is off. “But we aren’t dead, so as soon as he finds out, he will come after us again.”

“I thought we already talked about this, Y/N?,” Bucky sighs quietly, taking another step back, away from the bed and towards the edge where he sits down and rests the palm of his hand on your feet. You wiggle your toes and draw a small laugh from his lips.

“I thought we agreed to frame Steve and paint him as the mob boss, before we disappear to some far off island your father bought during his midlife crisis?”

Grabbing your phone from the night stand, you swipe through your photographs to show Bucky the picture you were talking about. “It’s not really an island, it’s not in the middle of the sea but rather in the middle of a lake. It’s not incredibly exotic either, but nobody will know us in Canada. Plus, it’s registered under a false name. It’s untraceable.”

“It’s nice,” Bucky grins but his eyes don’t sparkle with excitement like you expected to. Maybe he’s also worried about the unfinished business, or maybe he just doesn’t want to leave his home.

Handing your phone back to you, he stands up and announces he’s going to check on Natasha straightaway. “The sooner we find her and Casey, the sooner we can disappear.”

On the drive to Tony’s house, Bucky’s plan burning in the back of his mind, he follows your instructions in case the police is tailing him and makes a couple twists and turns before arriving at his destination. Natasha’s car is still out front and after parking his car, he looks inside the vehicle for any sign of Casey. Nothing.

Bucky runs towards the front door once he notices it’s ajar, and finds a trail of small blood drops leading all the way upstairs and to the master bedroom, where he figures Clint might’ve surprised Tony. But he finds no bodies, the blood trail ends at the foot of the bed yet it has not been slept in.

Suddenly he hears a sound coming from the room next to Tony’s bedroom, a thud that resembles someone kicking their feet at the door. Bucky barges in and on his first sweep of the room, finds nothing again and it’s starting to seriously frustrate him.

But then there’s that thud a second time, clearly coming from the closet on his right. The key is still in the lock and he just has to turn it and open the door in order to reveal a flustered Casey, bumping her foot against the closet wall. She seems unharmed and as he cradles the little girl in his arms, she asks for her mother and tells the brunet she’s bored.

“Daddy told me we were going to play hide and seek with auntie Nattie. I’ve been here for hours now, please take me to my mommy.”

Hopping down the stairs and back to his car, he puts the little girl on the backseat and promises her all the candy in the world if she can wait a little longer. She pouts but when he gives her one of the lollipops Y/N stashed away in his car just in case, she brightens up and eagerly tells him she’ll gladly wait. For as long as the lollipop lasts…

Once back inside, he inspects the downstairs first. There are no signs of a struggle, though there are two glasses sitting empty on the kitchen counter. Bucky picks one up and notices the lipstick stain on the edge of the glass where presumably Natasha drank from it. So she shared a drink with Tony while waiting for Clint to arrive, Casey playing around in one of the spare rooms?

Then something else entirely catches his eyes, the door to the backyard isn’t closed properly, a small breeze slipping between the cracks since it didn’t fall back into the lock properly. The lights in the garden go off as soon as he steps outside, and as suspected the area around the pool exhibits clear signs of a struggle.

Bucky hears a strangled groan, coming from the rose bushes nearby the pool house. He allows the sound to guide him and walks with his guard up in the direction of the noise. A shadowy figure appears in the corner of his eye, and then another a few feet away from the first which is clearly a man. Tony is half-conscious and hidden away in the shade of the rose bushes, the 7 a.m. darkness like a sheet wrapped around him, accompanied by Natasha’s lifeless body.

Crouching next to the wounded man, the brunet scans him for any injuries and his eyes are immediately guided to the gaping wound in his chest where a knife has struck him and the holes in his jacket from where Clint’s rain of bullets grazed the side of his torso. Bucky isn’t concerned about those flesh wounds, but as the blade of Clint’s knife is still stuck in Tony’s chest, he’s afraid the poor man might not have much time left.

“What happened,” Bucky queries as he tends to Tony’s charred skin around the stab wound. “What happened to Nat?” His tone turns devastatingly gloomy as he glances over to where Nat’s body lies.

With laboured breaths, Tony tries to explain last night’s events. Nat came over early and he sent Casey upstairs to play so he could have a drink and a chat with the redhead. She explained everything Y/N had confided in her, about Steve and his elaborate scheme, how he had known all along that she was the Brooklyn mob boss and that he used Clint to take care of Tony.

“Clint came late in the night, when I was already asleep upstairs and Natasha stayed behind on the couch to keep watch. He disarmed her and shot her, then told her to wake me up so he could kill me.”

Bucky nods as he remembers the trail of blood that led him upstairs first. It must’ve been Natasha’s. “I told Casey to hide in the closet, that we were going to play a game with auntie Nat, while Natasha tried to stop the bleeding. Afterwards, I followed her downstairs.”

Tony’s brown eyes have a worrisome dull shine to them and Bucky fears his end might be near. To ease his pain in these final moments, he takes off his jacket and then his shirt so he can tie the t-shirt around the wound to keep it from spilling blood like a damn fountain as well as keeping the knife steady, Tony’s chest heaving weakly and causing him so much more discomfort.

“He took us to the pool but I refused and he fired his gun at me four times. Three bullets barely missed me, but one caught my side. Natasha made an effort to distract him so I could run away, but her move didn’t work and he shot her…”

Tony’s breath hitches in his throat as he remembers how Clint took a clean shot at Natasha and the bullet ended right between her eyes, an instant death assured. “He ordered me to open up the liquor cabinet of the pool house and forced me to drink. He wanted me drunk so it would look like I drowned in the pool.”

The smell of alcohol is evident on Tony’s breath, yet Bucky doesn’t allow it to distract him. “Please take me to the hospital,” the man croaks, eyelids fluttering closed. “Clint stabbed me when those men arrived. They snapped his neck and took his body with them. Did Y/N send them too?”

“What men?” As far as Bucky knows, Y/N didn’t send any men to take care of Clint. She only had time to warn Natasha. “Tony, I will take you to the hospital but you gotta tell me who those men were!”

“I don’t know them. They were dressed all in black and it was dark. One of them had a weird insignia pinned on his coat.”

“They must’ve been Fury’s men then,” Bucky mumbles under his breath as he gets up and steps away from Tony whose confusion grows behind his eyes. “They must’ve kept tabs on everyone. Seems the old man is still loyal to the family after all.”

“What the fuck are you doing?,” Tony growls at Bucky while clawing at the grass around him, hoping to find a steady position in which he can get up. “Get me to the fucking hospital!”

Bucky grimaces at how hopeless Tony’s voice sounds right now. The once very confident business magnate is now nothing more than a petty lump of flesh. “I’m sorry, Tony, but I’m afraid your time has run out.“

Bucky fished for the gun he had stashed away on his back, secured by his belt, and aims it at Tony with a small, apologetic smile. “I really am sorry, pal. But I gotta admit I’m glad Clint did the work for me. You see, a woman that shares her heart with three men, can’t fully love one of them.”

The gun cocks back unexpectedly as Bucky relieves Tony of the torture he’s had to endure by Clint’s hand. He considers it to be an act of mercy, but there’s no doubt an element of selflish retribution attached to it. First Y/N’s father, then Tony and finally Steve got in the way of his relationship with Y/N. But no more, no longer.

As he turns his back on Tony’s and Natasha’s bodies, he walks back to the car as he dials Y/N’s number. She picks up straightaway and Bucky keeps his voice as calm and poised as possible while he delivers the bad news.

“Clint killed both of them, doll. Tony and Natasha. She put up a fight, trying to protect your daughter. He shot and stabbed Tony as well. Left him to bleed out. I didn’t get there in time.”


End file.
